


Taste the Devil's Tears

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Idiots in Love, Memory Alteration, Monster of the Week, Multi, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, he tries his best, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is the kind of loud-mouthed, sarcastic asshole that Derek wants to punch. Or seduce. He's not sure but he'll figure it out eventually.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 69
Kudos: 849





	1. Derek Hates Everything (So Does Stiles)

There was a kid Derek knew once. 

A spastic, hyperactive, loud-mouthed asshole that Derek couldn’t stand to be around but also couldn’t stand to be apart from. One that came and went so often, Derek used to wonder if he imagined him. One he knew when he was fifteen, forgot when he turned sixteen, and met again eight years later. A spastic, hyperactive, loud-mouthed asshole that Derek couldn’t ever escape. Even if he wanted to.

It started when the bodies began to pile up.

See, Derek didn’t do help. He didn’t. He didn’t need it (so he claimed) and when he did, Derek decidedly refused to ask. So when the ‘monster of the week’ became the ‘monster of the month’ and the pack was forced to go to Deaton for aid, Derek was unhappy. Even more so when Deaton said he couldn’t help them.

“That isn’t a part of my job anymore,” Deaton said. “Even if I knew what was killing people, I wouldn’t be able to provide aid.”

“You’re a druid,” Derek said. “There has to be something you can do.”

“I am a druid,” Deaton agreed. “But any magic I might’ve once had burned years ago with the Hale fire. You know this, Derek.”

“I know you stepped down when my mother died,” Derek said, snarling. “And I also know an Emissary never loses their magic. So help us find this thing.”

“Please,” Scott said, speaking up for the first time. “It’s killing people.”

Deaton looked between them, an unreadable look in his eyes. After a long moment, he sighed and turned away, searching one the shelves that held all his books. Grabbing a leather-bound book from the corner, he turned back and offered it over. Derek stared at the thing. 

“What is that.”

“A Bestiary,” Deaton said. “It might help you identify your monster.”

“I don’t need a book,” Derek snarled. “I need to track down the thing that’s invaded my territory.” 

Deaton regarded him with a cool expression. It kind of made Derek want to rip his throat out, or maybe just punch him in the face. That’d be less drastic. “An Emissary never does lose their magic, Derek,” Deaton said. “You were right about that. Except, I’m am no longer an Emissary, which means my magic isn’t bonded to anything. Therefore, it is out of my reach.”

“So this visit was pointless,” Derek growled. Deaton continued to hold out the Bestiary and tilted a brow.

“Less so if you’d take this.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Derek,” Lydia said, stepping forward and grabbing the book. She gave Derek a chastising look and he swallowed a growl, crossing his arms. She turned back to Deaton. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you can do?” Scott asked. “Anything magical?”

Deaton considered this. “If it’s magic you’re looking for, I wouldn’t be the right person.”

“But you know someone who might be?” Isaac asked. “The right person?”

“I might,” Deaton said. Derek turned the full force of his glare back on the vet and smothered the urge to snarl aloud at him.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because that’s not what you were asking earlier,” Deaton said simply.

Derek hated everything.

“Is this person here?” Scott asked, sounding excited. “In Beacon Hills?”

“Once.”

“Once?” Erica asked. “What, did he move towns?”

“Towns, no. Times? Yes”

Derek seriously hated everything. 

Deaton looked incredibly pleased with himself and Derek tried to remember that when he wasn’t chasing monsters across town, he was a Beacon Hills Deputy, and murder was illegal. Also, it wouldn’t be very Alpha-like if he had to arrest himself.

“What,” Derek said after a long moment of gathering himself. “Is that supposed to mean?”

“I could contact him,” Deaton said. “But I can’t promise he’ll come.”

“Contact him.”

Deaton gave him another long, expressionless look and didn’t move a muscle or say a word. Derek gritted his teeth together so hard they gnashed. 

“Please.”

“It takes careful preparation,” Deaton said, sighing. “It’s not an easy call to make.”

“It’s a call,” Jackson said. “Is your phone seriously that old?”

Deaton only smiled thinly. Derek stared at him for a moment, arms crossed, before inhaling and turning away. He needed to get out of this place before he ripped someone’s head off. Someone like the town vet. 

“Just do it,” Derek growled, starting toward the door. His betas followed, one by one, and Derek could feel Deaton watching them. He didn’t look back, but he did hear Deaton chuckle lightly to himself before moving around the office again.

God, Derek hated everything sometimes.

* * *

Stiles wasn’t supposed to mess with time. He knew this.

But he also really liked popping into the days when he was a hell of a lot younger and one-hundred-percent more innocent. Usually, that was a point between being fifteen-years-old, losing his mother, and watching a family he loved more than anything burn to death in their home. 

Stiles knew he wasn’t supposed to mess with time. But that didn’t make living in the present any easier.

To say he didn’t expect the Call would be an understatement. Stiles knew it wasn’t Saturday yet, so his dad wasn’t trying to drag him back to the present for a video call. He also knew he didn’t have any other jobs lined up, so nobody was supposed to be bothering him during this special ‘I hate the present’ time. 

But some asshole was.

Sighing, Stiles blinked a few times and the picture in front of him faded. One where a black dog raced through the forest and laughter filled the air. Little black lines crept up Stiles’s arm and where his skin was normally pale and clear over his collarbone, there were three little spirals of ink peeking out of his shirt.

Stiles didn’t pay them any attention. They’d fade soon. 

He came back to reality groaning. Stiles hadn’t gone to bed meaning to slip into his memories, but his head liked to go places he usually restricted when he was unconscious. Stiles glanced at the mark on his skin with a sigh before reaching out and grabbing his phone off the bedstand. The caller ID made him blink. Then, he hit the accept button and brought the phone to his ear.

“Deaton, what the hell? I was sleeping.”

“Only sleeping?”

“Alright, first of all,” Stiles said, rubbing at his face. “That’s none of your buisness. Secondly, not cool. Seriously though, old man, what do you want?” He sat up suddenly. “Wait, fuck, is it my dad? Is he okay?”

“Your father is fine, Stiles,” Deaton said, sounding tired. “But it would be most helpful if you would return to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles blinked. “You need me, Deaton? Dude, you never need anyone but yourself. We both know this.”

“Yes, well, this time, I have need of your assistance,” Deaton said, sighing slightly. “Or rather, I have friends who do.”

“Friends? You don’t have friends, D, you have customers and unfortunate acquaintances,” Stiles said. He scrunched up his face and then snorted as it clicked. “Wait, let me guess, is it supernatural? Is it big bad wolves or something else? Oh! Vampires! I haven’t dealt with vampires in ages.”

“It’s not vampires, Stiles.” 

“So they’re wolves, then. Growly, grumpy, with fangs and… they’re there with you, aren’t they? Tell me they’re there.”

“They’re not here,” Deaton said. He definitely sounded weary. Stiles glanced at the clock and realized it was only a little past five in the morning, but New York was three hours ahead of California. So maybe the man had a right to be tired. “Though, they were last night.”

“So they don’t know you’re calling me then? Damn, I feel so wanted.”

“I told them I’d try to get in contact last night,” Deaton said. “Except it’s morning now and I’ve been trying for hours.”

“Oh,” Stiles winced. Sometimes, when he got really invested in his memories, not even a Call could drag him out. That might be why the tattoo on his skin still hadn’t faded yet. It took a lot of power for him to stay inside his head for very long. “Sorry.”

“Do I have your help, Stiles?”

“What do the wolves want? And since when were wolves in Beacon Hills?”

“Since Derek Hale came back.”

Stiles nearly dropped the phone. “What?”

“Will you come?”

Stiles sat still for a long moment. There was light filtering in through the small window of his apartment and it lit up his tiny living space in all its disappointing glamor. Stiles hadn’t taken the trash out in nearly a week and he hadn’t washed his clothes in longer. He only really left the apartment to get coffee or food.

His dad would be so disappointed.

“Deaton,” Stiles said quietly. “When did Derek return?”

“Eight years ago.”

Stiles closed his eyes. Had it really been so long since he’d been back to Beacon? Stiles and time weren’t exactly compatible and he never really knew what was going on unless he was on the job. Which he hadn’t been on for far too long.

“Stiles?” Deaton asked again. “Will you come?”

“Fuck,” Stiles said. Even if he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t say no. He swallowed hard and nodded, before remembering Deaton couldn’t see. “Yeah, fuck, yeah. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Deaton said. Stiles stayed quiet as the man hung up.

For a moment, he wanted to scream. Or maybe curl back up underneath his blankets and pretend the call had never happened. Stiles didn’t do either of these things, staring blankly at the wall, but he really wanted to. Because Derek Hale… that was a piece of his past Stiles couldn’t face. One who didn’t even remember him.

Stiles closed his eyes and whimpered. This was going to be terrible. No, scratch that, this was going to be the death of him. Fuck.

Stiles really hated everything sometimes.


	2. Don't Kill the Magical Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is grumpy, Stiles makes terrible first impressions, and egg rolls ensue.

Derek didn’t sleep much that night. 

He listened to Issac moving through the apartment, eventually going into the bathroom and closing the door. Certains nights, he didn’t sleep in his bedroom, Derek knew. He’d found the young wolf in the bathtub more than once, curled up in the small space. Derek didn’t like to think how it was reflecting of the freezer Issac’s father used to lock him in. Or how the wolf found comfort in such a confined space on nights like these.

Other than Scott, the others hadn’t stuck around after the Deaton visit. All but Erica and Boyd had gone home, and the two betas crashed in the extra room. Derek listened to their heartbeats too, assuring himself more than once that his pack was safe. It had been a long night, they deserved their rest.

He didn’t sleep much, though. It wasn’t the current threat, he didn’t think, it was just the night, the moon, and the way his eyes refused to close.

Too soon it was morning and Erica and Boyd went off to their jobs at the local bakery and cafe, while Issac went out with Scott. Derek tried not to feel too irritated about having work of his own as he changed, pulling on his deputy uniform. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night and he didn’t know what to expect today.

Deaton still hadn’t made contact. Derek had no idea if this magic-user was coming or not, and if Derek should be expecting company or getting ready to face the Beacon Hills problem on his own. Like usual.

He kind of expected the latter.

Derek picked up coffee before heading to the station. It was his day to do so; him and the Sheriff always switched off. Derek hadn’t joined the station that long ago, but the Sheriff had taken a shine to him immediately. Derek thought he’d feel less inclined if he knew exactly what Derek did in his free time. But he tried not to linger on that thought too often.

Pushing into the Sheriff’s office, Derek was surprised to see a young man— no kid, really— sitting on the Sheriff’s desk, legs swinging over the edge. Derek froze and the kid did too and they just stared at each other for a second. 

The boy barely looked twenty, with a lithe frame, messy brown hair, and pale skin dotted with moles. He had the brightest amber eyes Derek had ever seen and smelled like autumn and cinnamon, with a faint tang of electricity. It got under Derek's skin like none of his pack’s did, and he decidedly didn’t like it. The kid also smelled shocked and panicked. Or sorrowful, maybe. Derek couldn’t place it.

Then the kid grinned. “Dude, hey! How’s it going?”

“Um,” Derek said intelligently. He shook his head and glared. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

The guy drew back, raising a brow. “Uh, sitting?”

“This is the Sheriff’s office.”

“I know right?” The boy smirked. “To be honest though, just between the two of us, I thought it was a strip joint at first. I mean,” his eyes swept over Derek and his scent changed appreciably. “I wouldn’t really mind if it was. But—”

Derek growled. The kid cut off, eyes widening.

“Joking! Dude, I was joking!”

“This is the Sheriff’s office,” Derek repeated, his voice low. “Visitors have to wait outside.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” the guy didn’t look bothered. “I’m a friend.”

“A visitor.”

“A close friend.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. The boy jumped off the desk and flounced over, offering out a hand. Derek looked at it and didn’t move to accept it, making the guy’s scent flare nervously. He drew away and rubbed at the back of his head, chuckling sheepishly.

“M’ name's Stiles. I’m just in town visiting for a while.”

“I don’t care what you’re doing here,” Derek said darkly. “This is the Sheriff’s office and unless he’s here to give you full permission—”

The door suddenly swung open. Of course, it did. Stiles perked up and grinned.

“Sheriff Stilinski!”

The Sheriff froze in the doorway and just stared. His scent was bright with confusion and shock and Derek was instantly on his guard; only to freeze as something akin to amazement and surprise rushed over the man. Stiles raced forward and engulfed the Sheriff in a hug and the Sheriff barked a laugh, hugging him tightly back. The waves of joy that rolled off him made Derek uncomfortable.

“Stiles.  _ Stiles.” _

“Oh my god,” Stiles said into his shoulder. “I would’ve texted or called or something but the flight sucked, my service was spotty, and—”

“Stiles,” the Sheriff said again. “I’m just happy to have you here.”

“Been a little while, hasn’t it?”

Sadness rolled off the Sheriff for a moment. He stepped back and regarded the boy, one brow raising slightly. “Only eight years.”

Stiles winced.

Derek swallowed and inched back, feeling like he was intruding on something he really shouldn’t be. Clearly, this Stiles guy was some kind of close friend or relative and the last thing Derek wanted to do was interrupt. But the moment he moved, Stiles spun back toward him. “I was just meeting one of your deputies! I think he was about to kill me though.”

“I wasn’t,” Derek said weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t.”

The Sheriff looked between him and Stiles. There was something in his eyes that Derek didn’t understand and Stiles swallowed for a moment, a message passing between the two of them. The Sheriff’s eyes cleared. He forced a smile. “This is Derek Hale, one of our newest deputies.”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles said, a bright smile on his face even though there was sadness in his scent again. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

His heart skipped a beat. _ Lie. _ Derek didn’t know what to do with that information. Maybe it was because Derek nearly had just killed him— he’d been slightly close. Only a little. But in his defense, he was being a good deputy. And this kid got underneath his skin for some reason.

“I should get to my desk,” Derek said, placing one of the coffees on the desk. The Sheriff regarded him with a fond look, nodding, and Derek quickly backpedaled out of the office. He could feel Stiles watching him the entire time. It made his skin crawl.

Even out of the office, Derek could hear Stiles’s heartbeats. They were quick and rabbiting and he was pacing the office as he talked, from the sound of it. Derek didn’t listen in on their conversation, even though he could have. Instead, he dropped into his desk and practically burrowed himself in his paperwork.

Deaton still hadn’t made contact, unsurprisingly. Derek didn’t think they’d be getting a magic-user, which meant the ‘monster of the month’ was all on him and his pack. Again. 

Derek growled and settled in for a long day.

* * *

That night, Derek lounged on the couch, book in hand. He was determined to get through it by the end of the week, but he’d been reading the same sentence over and over again for the past hour. The other betas were out; Erica and Boyd picking up dinner, Isaac who-knew-where. Derek was alone and determined to enjoy his time but goddammit, he couldn’t even sit still.

Then, right when the clock hit nine, the loft door slid open and light, nervous footsteps moved their way into Derek’s apartment. The rabbiting heartbeat wasn’t one he recognized and Derek was on his feet in seconds, claws out and teeth bared. His book dropped to the floor.

The man— no, boy— who entered his territory looked surprised at the reaction. Derek stared as he realized it was  _ the  _ boy. Stiles, the one from the station, the one who’d been bugging Sheriff Stilinski. The kid looked startled, as if he wasn’t walking into a strangers apartment unprompted. He raised his hands and chuckled, amber eyes dancing as he took a step back.

“Woah, dude, don’t hulk out.”

Derek stared. Either the boy didn’t realize he was literally breaking and entering, or he didn’t care. He scanned the apartment and eyed doorway leading to the kitchen, turning his gaze up to the rafters and finally looking at the open windows in the back. Stiles whistled.

“Damn, Wolf-man, you’ve got quite the setup here. I’d say it could be a little cheerier but I value my life, so I’ll just leave that as implied.”

_ Wolf-man.  _ Derek went so tense, he could have shattered. Stiles looked at him and raised a concerned eyebrow, eyes flitting from Derek to his dropped book to his constipated expression. He suddenly grinned. 

“Dude, are you okay? Are you dying? Oh my god, did I break you already?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Uh, Stiles,” the kid said, rolling his eyes. “Dude, we met. You tried to eat me in the Sheriff’s office and then proceeded to pout for the rest of the day, remember? Seriously, didn’t Deaton tell you I’d be by? Oh my god, he didn't, did he? Well, I’m his guy. His go-to man in a tight situation. Your savior in red plaid and unwashed jeans.”

Derek growled. Stiles rolled his eyes and started around the apartment, ducking into each room he passed and making noises of approval when he found them interesting. He paused at the doorway of the kitchen and peered in before barking a laugh.

“Astoundingly empty, I’m not surprised. You don’t strike me as someone who watches MasterChef, Growly-brows, no offense.” Stiles’s gaze zeroed in on the book Derek had been reading and his smirk widened. “Hemingway, really? I’d say that’s not a cliche but it totally is.”

“How did you find this place?” Derek growled. His fangs poked his lips, but Stiles seemed laughably uncaring about them. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and grinned.

“Uh, it wasn’t that hard? I’m usually not the type for accepting trophies, but I’ve never said no to astonished applause. Come on, big guy, give it a go!”

Derek snarled. But anything he was going to say (probably nothing nice) was interrupted by Erica and Boyd returning, both going shock-still when they saw the boy standing in the middle of the room. Erica blinked.

“Uh, Derek? Who’s this?”

“Ah! I’m Stiles,” Stiles beamed and opened up his arms, as if the title was something to be proud of. “Expert researcher, part-time monster hunter, mildly-trained spark, dream walker at times, and all and all sarcastic asshole. At your service.”

Boyd stared in shocked silence. Erica, on the other hand, grinned.

“Erica. I’ll rip your throat out without blinking.”

“Charmed. And who is your tall and menacing werewolf brick of a friend? He looks like he could break me in half and I can’t tell if that’s terrifying or arousing."

Erica barked a laugh. “He’s Boyd. Don’t cross him and he won’t cross you.”

“Rules I will live and love by, my dear. Is that dinner?”

Derek couldn’t tell if he was shocked or annoyed at how quickly the situation leaped out of his hands. Stiles followed Erica and Boyd into the kitchen, still talking like a mad man while flailing his hands wildly, and Derek stared after them for a long moment. Then he got his wits back and quickly followed.

“Ah, Grumpy-brows,” Stiles said. “Come to join us for dinner?”

“There is no us,” Derek gritted out. The kid’s eyes widened and he tilted his head.

“Is he always this angsty?”

“Only on days ending with ‘y’.”

“Hm. Then I suppose we should talk business, right?” Stiles rested his chin on his hands. “Deaton attempted to bring me up to speed, but you know how that man is with being clear. I’d be better off banging my head against the wall and hoping that jolted things into place.”

The other two betas dug into the take-out dinner, though Derek knew they were still listening. He was feeling less and less inclined to share anything with Stiles, but recounted everything they knew anyway, from the bodies piling up to the condition they were left in. Stiles never stopped moving as he listened, fingers drumming against the counter, leg jolting up and down in uneven movements. It was annoying.

When Derek finished, Stiles grinned.

“Yeah, okay, I have about ten suspect creatures then, though the list could be narrowed down if I got an eyeful of the bodies,” Stiles said. He tilted a brow. “You’ve been chasing this thing for a month now?”

“Yes.”

“And no luck yet?”

“If we had some, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Way to make a guy feel welcome,” Stiles said, but he was still smirking. He accepted a plate full of pad thai from Erica with a pleasured noise and Derek scowled even further, aiming the expression at both her and Stiles. The blonde-haired beta only shrugged, returning to her own food.

Derek pulled out his phone and texted the rest of the pack, ordering them back now. The faster they figured things out, the faster this annoying, loud-mouthed stranger could be out of his home. He tried not to look as Stiles munched happily on an egg roll, tongue darting to the corners of his mouth as he chased spare crumbs.

“So, Deputy Hale— Derek? Can I call you Derek?”

“No.”

“O-kay, Wolf-man, we’ll stick to the nicknames then.” Derek growled, but Stiles ignored it. He took another bite of noodles, not even bothering to swallow before continuing his rambles. “I’d like to say that first off, I’m glad to be here, excited to run with your wolves for the next week or so, and totally into this whole serial killer vibe you’ve got going on. But I don’t work for free.”

“We can pay,” Derek said flatly. Stiles beamed.

“I never had any doubts.”

The door suddenly slid open again and Scott and Issac both stumbled in, followed by a much smoother Allison. Derek rolled his eyes as the two werewolves stared at Stiles, who perked up immensely.

“Oh joy, more wolves!” Stiles said, flouncing up and gazing at Allison as he approached. He tilted his head slightly. “And a hunter. I’m impressed.”

“Allison.”

“Argent, yes?”

“You know your facts.”

“I like to keep tabs on the greatest—” Derek growled and Stiles rolled his eyes— “Previous greatest hunter family to follow the code. Or at least,” Stiles’s gaze turned clouded and he gave Derek an unreadable look, which definitely got under his skin. “Mostly followed the code.”

Allison flinched, but covered it up with a smile. Scott stumbled forward and held out a hand, which Stiles shook with vigor.

“Scott McCall.”

“The True Alpha.”

Scott beamed, offering puppy eyes and dimples that could knock the strongest men off their feet. “And you’re the guy Deaton said he’d get into contact with yesterday.”

“The one and only,” Stiles said, amber eyes dancing. “Except apparently he didn’t bother to mention I’d be coming over here so Growly-brows nearly ate me. Again.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“This is Issac,” Scott said, pulling the curly-haired boy forward. Issac studied Stiles a little less trustfully, which made Derek immensely (though silently) proud. Stiles grinned and looked him up and down, nodding appreciatively.

“Does the entire pack look like they just came out of a magazine? Cause don’t get me wrong, I’m all for working with supermodels and am very confident in my own masculinity, but wolves smell things that they really shouldn’t be allowed to and I’m not at fault for where my mind goes.”

“Stiles,” Derek said harshly, drawing the guy’s attention back. “Can we get a move on with this?”

“Uh, yeah, actually, except I’ve got a few other things to do.”

“What?”

“Errands, chores, a quick list of to-dos before we get started,” Stiles said, backing toward the door. Derek growled in irritation, but Stiles ignored him. “I just came by to say my hellos. Don’t fret though, Sourwolf, I’ll be back for breakfast tomorrow and we can get everyone properly introduced. Sound good?”

Derek glared at him and Stiles’ amber eyes danced as he saluted, turning away. He flounced out of the apartment with the faintest remnants of autumn, and Derek didn’t know if he was relieved or murderous that the kid was gone. Maybe a bit of both. He was unsettling and Derek could use another few hours to get his head straight before being forced to face Stiles again.

Or a few more years, if he could only.


	3. Remember the Freaking Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is nostalgic, Derek is irritated, and Jackson isn't impressed.

So Stiles was kind of a liar.

He didn’t have a single damn chore to attend to. But if he had to be in that apartment for one more second, be around Derek freaking Hale for one more minute, Stiles was going to lose his mind. He’d done his best. He’d put on a show. But not only had Derek not even recognized him, the werewolf already hated his guts.

Stiles thought they’d gotten over that. Well, once, he guessed, they had. 

God, it hurt like hell.

Stiles didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it had to be somewhere other than the loft. Derek’s grey-green eyed look of pure distaste made Stiles’s skin crawl and he couldn’t help but remember when they were younger. More innocent. Years before the death under the Nemeton and the burning of a house.

There was a werewolf waiting for him in the parking lot, leaned up against the driver’s door of his jeep. Stiles came to a stuttering stop and stared, before rolling his eyes and stepping forward.

“Peter.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, straightening up. “I knew it was you.”

Stiles wasn’t in the mood to mess with anyone else. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and eyed the werewolf warily, taking in his hesitant stance and wide eyes. An aura of ash and smoke surrounded the man, making him wrinkle his nose. “You smell like death.”

“Yes, well,” Peter said, still staring. “That’s the price one pays for cheating it.”

“Cheating,” Stiles said with a snort. “That’s one word for it.”

“You met with Derek?” Peter asked, watching his face. Stiles’s heart twisted and he glowered, looking away. The sky was dark and the air was cold; quiet in comparison to the New York streets he was used to. It was familiar in an unfamiliar way.

“Deaton asked me here. To help.”

“And?”

“And I’m here,” Stiles said sharply. “Took eight years, but I’m back again. Don’t get me wrong, Creeperwolf, I heard about your return to the living world. Nearly considered coming, just because it made my celebrations regarding your death the first time rather pointless.”

Peter didn’t even flinch. “Well, I do so hate to disappoint.”

“No,” Stiles said. “You don’t.” 

“You wound me.”

“Not as badly as I could. Or I should.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, strained. 

“Did she have a chance to fight back? Laura? When you ripped out her throat?”

Blue flashed through Peter’s eyes. For a moment he was feral and fanged, a low growl echoing from the back of his throat. But Stiles held his gaze and glared. He’d known he would run into the werewolf sooner or later, but he’d been hoping for later. Or longer than that. Stiles drew himself up and power thrummed through the air, his own eyes flashing a brighter amber. Peter immediately cut off, fangs retract again. “You’re still—”

“I always will be,” Stiles said sharply. “I’ve never given it up.”

“Does Derek—?”

“No,” Stiles said sharply. “I came here for Beacon Hills, not for you and not for Derek. I came for the memory of what this town used to be. Before it all went up in flames.”

Peter looked at him. Stiles half expected him to leap forward or shift, again, but the werewolf only nodded quietly. He dipped his head and stepped away from Stiles’s jeep, the aura of ash and smoke moving with him. 

Stiles moved forward, yanking the door open. He climbed in and ignored the blue of Peter’s eyes or how there was pain hidden behind his eyes. Stiles twisted his key in the ignition and tried to ignore all of that.

But he couldn’t ignore how much his chest hurt. Or how Peter eyed him one more time, the words  _ ‘he deserves to know’  _ leaving his lips. Stiles couldn’t ignore how that sentence hung in the nighttime air, even as he shoved the gearshift in reverse and pulled away.

* * *

Derek could never catch a break.

“We have a slight problem,” Scott’s voice gasped through the phone. Derek closed his eyes and cursed everything that ever made him decide to return to Beacon Hills. Here he’d been, trying once more to finish his stupid book, when the phone had rung. And his phone never rang unless it was important.

“Scott,” Derek said, snarling slightly. “What’s wrong. Where are you guys?”

“Jackson’s been hit, Erica and Boyd are trying to lead it away.”

“It? Scott, what the hell happened? What is it?” Derek could hear the scuffle of dragging feet and branches snapping on the other side of the line, along with labored breaths. He recognized Jackson's heartbeat as it pounded faintly, along with Scott’s strained gasps.

“The thing,” Scott said. “The creature, whatever it was. We were patrolling and it came out of nowhere and Jackson took the worst of the blow.”

“Take him to Deaton. You hear me, Scott? Deaton, now. I'll meet you there.”

“We’re close. But Issac, he—” The line suddenly cut off. Derek glared down at the black screen, and then cursed, throwing it to the couch.

_ Fuck,  _ Derek could never catch a break.

He left the loft quickly and climbed into his car, driving as fast as he could to the vet’s office. The others were already there when he arrived; Derek could hear Allison's worried whispers and Scott's pacing back and forth. He recognized a rabbiting heartbeat too, which made him scowl even more.

Derek’s pack all stepped aside as he entered, but Stiles didn’t move from Jackson’s side, where the beta was laid out on a metal table in the middle of the room. There were deep claw marks going across his torso and they didn’t seem to be healing, the blood turned an ugly color of black. Jackson’s breaths were shallow.

“Do something,” Lydia said, her voice high. Derek looked at Deaton, who glanced sideways.

“Stiles?”

“Stiles?” Derek couldn’t hold back his snarl. “Deaton, you’re the druid. Do something.”

“Relax big guy,” Stiles nudged him aside and Derek bared his teeth. The boy waved him away, standing over Jackson and studying the wounds. “I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this? Are you kidding me?”

“No, Fido, I’m not.” Stiles didn’t even sound marginally impressed, pushing up his sleeves. “Now get out of my bubble or things might go wrong, and I won’t be at fault for that. Do you want your little wolf to live or not?”

Derek’s growl was so low, it vibrated off the walls, but he moved back a fraction all the same. Stiles rubbed his hands together and studied Jackon’s face, who had his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he took gasping breaths. Lydia turned her head into Allison’s shoulder and Issac whined piteously in the back of his throat. It didn’t matter how any of them sometimes felt about Jackson; he was pack.

“Alright,” Stiles said, sparks starting to leap off his fingertips. “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

Derek didn’t like the idea of this guy touching one of his betas, but he hated the feeling of being helpless even more, consoling himself that if anything happened to Jackson, Stiles and all his sarcasm would be dead before he uttered another word. The boy touched Jackon’s side gently and clucked his tongue, head shaking. 

“Sorry, my dude, this is going to hurt a little. So don’t make any unmanly screams, yeah? Or do, none of us are going to judge. Outloud.”

“Get on with it,” Derek growled. Stiles ignored him, which stuck under his skin in a way Derek couldn’t explain. Stiles pressed his hands against Jackson’s side and they sparked again. Derek watched as amber eyes glowed with a golden color not unlike that of his betas, though it was tingled slightly with red. Lines of black ebbed from a mark forming just underneath his collarbone, leaking into his Jackson’s skin like ink. 

The beta howled and tried to sit up, but Scott and Boyd moved to hold him down. Stiles ignored all sounds of pain, grimacing as Jackon’s skin stitched itself back together. Derek clenched his fists as he watched, unable to help, but unable to break his gaze away.

Finally, Stiles drew back. Where claw marks had been was now clear, untouched skin, and Jackson stopped fighting. The lines faded from Stiles’ skin and he wiped his hands off on his jeans, seeming uncaring for the blood they were covered in. There  _ was  _ a mark— or some kind of tattoo— underneath his shirt now, Derek could see, but Stiles didn’t seem too bothered about that. The kid wrinkled his nose.

“Well, that was slightly gross.”

“What did you do?” Erica asked, stepping forward. Stiles grinned and waggled his fingers.

“Magic, my dear.”

“That’s it?” Derek studied his beta, but he couldn’t read anything off him other than waves of exhaustion. Lydia rushed forward and cupped the back of his head, whispering things from angry threats to faint murmurs of assurance. Stiles shrugged with a small smirk.

“That’s it. And I think I know what we’re dealing with, now.”

“What?”

“Later. Can we get food or something? I’m hungry now.”

Derek narrowed his eyes with a flash of irritation, but Deaton cleared his throat before he could wring the boy’s neck. Stiles stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels as the vet studied Jackson, nodding his approval after a moment.

“Very well done, Stiles.”

“You know it, D, I learned from the best.”

“Why couldn’t you do that?” Issac asked. Deaton raised a brow.

“Because, as we’ve been over, I don’t practice magic anymore, Mr. Lahey.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Though even if they weren’t, Stiles is a very peculiar case. I doubt I could do many of the things he can.”

“Aw,” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Buttering me up, Deaton? We both know that won’t get you anywhere.”

The vet looked completely serious. “I only speak the truth.”

“In your own mysterious oracle-like way, yes, you do.”

Jackson sat up slowly, his skin still a sort of placid grey color. He studied Stiles, lips twisting into his usual sneer, and Derek knew then that he’d be okay. Or at least, as okay as Jackson ever could be. “This guy saved my life?”

“Ah, an asshole. Pleased to meet you, brother mine.”

Jackson wrinkled his nose at Stiles’ offered hand, who only shrugged and stuffed it back in his pocket as if the reaction was individual rather than rude. The kid grinned at Lydia instead.

“And oh great spirits, I’m in the presence of a goddess. Hi, I’m Stiles.”

“Lydia,” she said, offering a small smile despite Jackson’s warning snarl. Stiles must have no sense of self-preservation because he grinned right back, eyes dancing like they always were. Derek didn’t know why he had the simultaneous urge to punch the guy in the face and step in between him and Lydia at the same time. Scott’s shuffling brought him back to the real world.

“So that thing in the forest. What was it?”

Stiles' lips quirked. “Like I said, Scott my boy, that’s a conversation for later. Preferably with food and drink, because I could eat a horse right now…” He trailed off and turned toward the door. Derek followed his gaze to realized something he hadn’t heard earlier; the sound of approaching footsteps and a steady heartbeat. He tensed, as did the rest of the wolves, all still wary and bloodied from the previous battle.

Derek didn’t expect to see the Sheriff enter the room, coming to a pause as his eyes roved over all of them. He also didn't expect the man's gaze to freeze on Stiles and a look of relief to wash across his features, confusing Derek even more when the man stepped forward and engulfed the boy in a hug.

“Jesus, Stiles, you’ve been here for what, a day? And you’re already driving me to the edge of a heart attack.” The Sheriff drew back to scan Stiles up and down, before shooting Deaton a pointed look. “This is your doing, I assume?”

“D-aad,” Stiles complained, flailing around slightly. “I’m just doing my job. Deaton’s done nothing but provide moral support and slight judgment to my forgetfulness about taking my pills this morning. I swear.”

“Dad?” Scott looked piteously confused. Stiles ignored him.

“Anyway, what do you think you’re doing here? I know for a fact your shift started an hour ago and is that…” He leaned close to sniff judgmentally. “The remnants of chili cheese fries I smell? Because if so, you’re going to be eating salads for the next month, mister, don’t test me.”

“I think I’m allowed a pass if I’ve been eating salads for the past month,” the Sheriff said, crossing his arms. Stiles raised a brow.

“But have you?”

“That’s— that’s not the point. Deaton, what has my son been up to?”

Deaton opened his mouth, but Stiles cut him off, crossing his own arms like a scolded child. “I told you dad, I’m just doing my job. These wolves—” He gestured around the room and they all went tense— “would not be alive if it weren’t for me. I’m the shit, remember?”

“Language.”

“Hold on,” Erica stepped forward. “The Sheriff knows about us?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s my dad. He knows about a lot of things, especially how bad chili cheese fries are for his health, yet he still sneaks them into the house when I’m not around, like a teenager—”

“Stiles.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m filling the fridge with spinach and carrots before I leave again.”

Derek finally stepped forward, taking charge of the situation. He couldn’t wrap his head around everything Stiles was and knew, but he was the Alpha, dammit, and this was his territory. “Sheriff, can I ask what this visit is for?”

The Sheriff looked at him. “I’m here to check on my son, Deputy.”

“I didn’t… realize he was related to you.”

“Dude,” Stiles said. “That morning in the Sheriff’s station. Do you think I just go around hugging random people? Wait, don’t answer that. I’m a friendly person, that’s not a crime.”

Derek growled. Stiles smirked.

“Aw, that’s cute.”

“I thought you were here to visit, Stiles,” the Sheriff said. “It’s bad enough I don’t have control over what you do outside of Beacon Hills, I’m not having you risk your life here.”

“I’ve kinda already accepted the job, so—”

“Stiles.”

_ “Dad.” _

The Sheriff opened his mouth again, but Stiles’s eyes turned bright and fierce, and Derek got a glimpse once more of the power that laid behind them. He crossed his arms and the energy in the room buzzed, just like it had when he healed Jackson. It was enough to set Derek’s instincts on high gear.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve finished what I came here for, dad. You know I’m not the kid I was last time we were in this office. I’m stronger now. And you’re out there risking your life too.

The Sheriff studied his son for a long, gauging moment, before nodding with a sigh. He turned toward Derek and the rest of the room, wincing slightly. “Deputy. So this is your pack? We’ve never officially talked about… this side of Beacon Hills. ”

Derek couldn’t believe he was working under a man who  _ knew  _ he was a werewolf. And who clearly didn’t care that much.. He nodded silently.

“You do look like you need all the help you can get,” the Sheriff said. Behind him, Stiles beamed, big and wide.

“And now we’re getting somewhere!”


	4. One Thing After Another

So one more person in Beacon Hills knew about werewolves. They made their way back to Derek’s loft, the Sheriff coming without even needing an invitation, and Derek’s mood only soured when he spotted Peter sitting on the couch on arrival. 

The older wolf tensed when Stiles entered, looking at the boy with an unreadable expression. Stiles, in return, gave him a flat one back. Derek gazed between them in confusion.

“Do you two know each other?”

“In a sense,” Stiles said flatly. Peter didn’t answer; which was unusual in itself.

Derek blinked. Since when did his uncle know about this kid? 

Stiles tossed his hoodie and dropped down onto the couch, despite wrinkling his nose a little when he glanced over at Peter. He propped his feet onto the table, even with his father’s chastising look. From the way he regarded Peter, Derek wondered what exactly he noticed about the man. Ever since Peter had come back from the grave, he carried a scent of smoke and ash wherever he went, something Derek had taken a long time to get used to. It still sometimes set him on edge.

Derek gazed between Stiles and his uncle in mute confusion, before shaking himself out of it. Derek didn’t like Stiles. He couldn’t tell if Peter didn’t either, or if Derek was the only one.

It’d just be his luck.

The others all swarmed around the kid, while the Sheriff took the take-out into the kitchen. Scott took a place on Stiles’s other side and Issac sat at his feet, both closer to Peter than they usually ever were. Derek held back a growl as Erica ran a hand along the back of Stiles’ neck, scenting him in the most discreet way possible.

“Well,” Stiles said, lacing his fingers together and cracking them loudly. “I suppose we should get down to business, right? Unless everyone wants to eat first, in which case I should say the beef and broccoli is labeled ‘STILES’.”

Derek watched his pack get up and swarm to the kitchen, following Stiles’ unsaid leadership in a way they didn’t often do with him. He frowned after them, mainly after Stiles, and tried not to let that get under his skin. Not like the kid already had.

“You don’t seem to like our guest very much, nephew,” Peter said, smirking a little. Derek glared at him.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Of course you don’t, you don’t trust your own shadow. But he’s a good kid, better than most.”

“And you know that how, exactly? He doesn’t seem to like you.”

“Oh,” Peter shrugged evasively, white teeth glinting in the light. But he looked a little… off at the last part of Derek’s sentence. “I have my ways.”

Derek scowled back toward the kitchen, as his betas came out one by one with plates full of food. He didn’t see Stiles until the kid moved around where he sat, plopping a plate of food into his lap and sinking into the armchair a few feet away. Derek stared in confusion and Stiles quirked up a lip, gesturing from him to the plate.

“That’s called food, Growly. You eat it.”

“Why.”

“Uh, for sustenance, you weirdo, but sometimes just because it tastes good. I’ve definitely gone through an entire sleeve of oreos in one sitting just because I couldn’t make myself stop. But that’s a story for a different time.”

“No,” Derek growled, irritation itching under his skin. “Why did you get me a plate.”

“Your lack of punctuation when asking questions is quite concerning.”

Derek narrowed his eyes and Stiles shrugged with a laugh. The boy stretched out his legs and placed his feet back on the coffee table, shoveling an alarming amount of beef and broccoli into his mouth. He was a mess of unbridled energy and motion, even when he was sitting, which gave Derek a headache. He was torn between wanting to tie Stiles down to keep him still, and kicking his feet off the table just to make a point, but settled for poking at his food instead. Derek’s stomach rumbled and Stiles shot him an annoying smirk, taking another bite of his own dinner.

The room was mostly quiet as they all ate, other than the sounds of chewing and quiet conversation. Stiles finished his food first and looked at his paper plate thoughtfully, before scrunching up his nose. There was a shift in the air, a buzz of electricity, and then crackle followed by a sudden flicker of flames, and the plate was gone. Scott sat straight up in surprise.

“How did you do that?”

Stiles grinned. “Pretty easily.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, obviously used to his son’s antics. Scott continued to stare.

Once they’d all finished eating, conversation turned to the creature wandering the woods. Stiles’ apparent earlier to-do list consisted of tracking down his dad and getting a look at the crime reports, as well as taking a trip to the hospital mortuary to see the bodies.

“It’s a rougarou,” Stiles said without preamble, leaning forward. Issac choked on his food.

“A what?”

“A European monster,” Lydia said from her place at Jackson’s side. She looked at Stiles inquisitively. “They’re the European version of a werewolf, except much more deadly.”

“Right you are, my queen,” Stiles said with a grin. He ignored Jackson’s warning growl and tapped the side of his nose. “Of course, it’s not actually a werewolf, but we’d be better off if it was. The Rougarou is a bloodthirsty creature that lives only to hunt and kill. Picture a psychotic Alpha werewolf stuck in its Alpha form, but even angrier.” 

Stiles quite obviously looked at Peter when he said that, but Derek’s uncle only met his gaze with that same distant, quiet expression. Stiles rolled his eyes and faced the rest of the room again.

“It’s not gonna be easy to kill, but it’s not impossible. Because of its genetic makeup, don’t trust your wolfy healing to be very useful in this fight. The rougarou will claw you to shreds before an inch of skin stitches itself back together.”

“That’s reassuring,” Jackson muttered. The others mumbled their agreement.

“How do we track it?” Boyd asked. 

“It’s gotta have a den somewhere,” Stiles shrugged. “Probably deep, dark, and filled with bones, like a total cliche, but you pups should be able to track it down once we’ve caught the thing’s scent.”

Mutters went all around the room again, but Stiles seemed uncaring for them, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his seat again. Derek poked at what was left of his food, his appetite gone a long time ago.

“Well, I’d say that’s a meeting adjourned,” Peter said, standing up. The others all growled, but he didn’t react, starting back into the kitchen. Derek was surprised to see his pack turn to look at him after his uncle’s words; usually, they just filtered out by themselves.

“We have what we need for now,” he said. “Go home, get some sleep. You’ll be needing it.”

Derek was even more surprised to see them nod and start moving. The sound of packing food, utensils clattering, and the apartment door opening and closing filled the air until it was only him, Stiles, Issac, and the Sheriff left. Stiles gazed up at his dad, blinking with tired eyes.

“I might just crash here tonight, pops, I know you’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

The Sheriff smiled fondly and ruffled his hair, before shooting Derek a quick look. “Is that okay with you, Hale?”

“It’s... fine,” Derek said, despite how he really felt. He wasn’t sure what inclined him to agree, but the man nodded and left the loft too, leaving the rest of them in silence. Stiles sighed in contentment, shifting his feet on the coffee table.

Giving into the urge that had been bugging him all night, Derek lifted his own foot and kicked Stiles’ off. The kid squawked in protest, flailing around, and Derek offered a triumphant sneer.

“Sourwolf,” Stiles grumbled, pushing himself up. He patted Issac’s head as he passed, and Derek noticed the wolf lean slightly into his touch. “I’m crashing on the couch, I take it? Completely fine as long as you guys have an extra blanket or something. I get cold easy, it’s a Stilinski curse.”

“My room’s always an option,” Peter said from the kitchen doorway and while Derek shot him a glare, Stiles sighed, and then offered a small laugh.

“Of course it is, you creep.”

Peter smiled and the expression actually looked real. Derek shook his head.

“There are spare blankets in the closet,” he said. “Pillows too.”

“You’re a saint, Sourwolf.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Of course, your great grouchiness.”

Issac snorted in amusement, then quickly covered it up when Derek shot him a dark look. The beta took off toward his own room with quick movements, leaving Peter rolling his eyes.

“You have no sense of humor, nephew.”

“I have a sense of humor.”

“You have snark,” Stiles called from the hallway, coming back into view with blankets and pillows. “There’s a difference. It’s a Hale trait, I think.”

“Are you comparing me to my psychotic uncle?”

“No, that would be rude. I’m stating the fact that you and humor go together like pickles and peanut butter, which is an awful combination, I’ll have you know. Would never recommend.”

Derek huffed, forcing the corners of his mouth to stay exactly in place. Peter tried to look wounded.

“I consider myself to be an epitome of dry humor, Stiles.”

“Dry as the grave,” Stiles deadpanned. Peter’s lips quirked into a smirk.

“Only temporarily.”

“Yes, as I mentioned earlier, I heard about that. You know, I considered coming back to town just to kill you the first time, when I heard about your killing spree.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, Creeperwolf, stake through the heart and a quick beheading. I don’t care if that’s the way to deal with vampires, it would’ve done the job. Throat slashing be damned.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Peter said. He actually sounded sincere. 

Stiles dumped the blankets onto the couch and studied Peter with an impassive face, just like he had when they first came face-to-face, though Derek saw something flicker in his amber eyes. The kid chewed on his lower lip before saying sincerely, “It wasn’t fair. What happened.”

Derek flinched away, but Peter only smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Not all the Hales can come back to life either. Not even the great Talia Hale.”

“Talia,” Stiles said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “A good woman.”

“You knew my mother?” The words spilled from Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. Stiles looked over and shrugged one shoulder, plopping down onto the couch. He was still wearing the same clothes from earlier, the front of his shirt stained with Jackson’s blood. 

“Once.”

It was the first one word answer Stiles had uttered since Derek met him and up until now, Derek didn’t even know that was possible. He continued to stare, but Stiles didn’t say anything further, so he looked at Peter, who shrugged with a sharp, knowing grin. Derek growled at the back of his throat. He was sure he’d never seen Stiles before, and his mother had never mentioned knowing the Stilinskis. Who was this kid?

Peter slunk back up the stairs and Stiles kicked back, burrowing himself in the blankets. Derek just stared for a moment. Then he turned, stalking into his own room only to come back out a moment later with a black henley and pair of sweatpants. He tossed them at the boy. Stiles started in surprise. 

“What are these?”

“Clothes.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes, I know that. What, are you clothing me now, Sourwolf?”

“Would you rather sleep in Jackson’s blood?”

Stiles looked down at his shirt with a grimace, tugging at the hem. It was a white tee that read ‘I AM BATMAN’ in bold letters, though the word ‘Batman’ was splattered with blood. 

“Man,” Stiles said. “This was my favorite shirt.”

Derek rolled his eyes and returned to his room. He could hear Stiles changing beyond his door, as he stripped down to his boxes without thinking about it too hard. He didn’t want to think about anything involving Stiles too hard, not tonight. Not with the smell of autumn and cinnamon that tainted his apartment and refused to leave his nose.

That’s what he told himself, at least, as Derek turned his back to the door. That’s what he repeated over and over again as he slowly drifted off.

He totally didn’t fall asleep to the sound of Stiles’ rabbiting heartbeat fading to a dull, steady thump.


	5. Tell Me You Remember (No?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is torn, Derek comes to a few realizations, and Isaac deserves a hug.

Stiles should’ve known better. He should’ve known better than to stick around, despite that being the only thing he wanted.

He let it all get under his skin. The familiar scents, the warmth of the past, the feeling of home. Even Peter, who he could still punch in the face, had gotten under his skin like an undead worm. Stiles should've known better. But he found himself asking to stick around the loft anyway.

And now here he was. Crashing on the couch like he wasn’t a stranger to all that is Derek Hale and trying to pretend he wasn’t torturing himself by being here.

Stiles groaned and shifted back and forth. He should be more uncomfortable. He should be hating every second of this. But instead, Stiles found himself falling asleep far easier than he had in eight years. And for the first time since the smell of blood had suffocated his nose, his mind didn’t wander into the comfort of dreams. Or memories.

Stiles only woke up once. And he fell back asleep with a new, comfortable weight on his chest five minutes later. One he really didn’t mind.

* * *

Derek woke up at some point to hear Issac moving around the apartment again. He expected him to head for the bathroom but heard a quiet conversation instead. He was too tired to listen in. Then the couch springs squeaked and then the apartment went quiet again. 

When he woke up again, sunlight filtered through his window. 

Derek came out of his loft unsurprised to see a giant bundle of blankets on his couch. But he was surprised to see Issac curled up around Stiles’s body, face tucked into the crook of his neck and chest rising and falling in peaceful breaths. It struck Derek shock-still, watching his beta sleep more peacefully than he had in ages. 

Stiles blinked awake, a tired smile tugging at his lips when he saw Derek staring. He titled his head slightly, the smile growing larger. “Good morning, Sourwolf, enjoying the show?’

Derek snapped back to reality and heard a snort from across the room, shooting his uncle a dark glare. He didn’t want to think about how long Peter had been watching Issac and Stiles sleep, or how long he’d been staring. Derek stalked into the kitchen and started the coffee, listening to the sound of Issac waking up in the other room too. The beta made soft mumbling noises, took a startled intake of breath, and then offered an embarrassed apology. To which Stiles chuckled and patted him on the cheek.

Derek set his coffee down on the counter harder than he’d meant too. Peter came in with an amused look. 

“Is everything okay, nephew?”

“Shut up,” Derek growled. Peter grinned blindingly.

Stiles came ambling into the kitchen after a moment, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He looked unfairly attractive in Derek’s black henley, the short sleeves showing off the spirals of his tattoo. Derek wondered exactly how far they went under his shirt, then he cursed himself for having such thoughts.

“Coffee, Grumpy-brows? I’m ecstatic. I don’t deny that I make a mean cup myself, but my specialty usually lies in pancakes. And eggs.” Stiles winked. “Ladies and men have been known to swoon over my morning-after meals, I’ll have you know.”

Derek ground his teeth together, ignoring the last comment. He didn’t need to imagine how Stiles would look the morning after having— no. No.

Stiles rummaged around Derek’s cupboards without the care to ask permission, searching through the cereal boxes and pulling out a bowl and a mug. He scrounged around the fridge too, eventually pulling out the milk and an apple. Derek ignored the beaming smirk he offered when he caught Derek staring again.

“Geez, Sourwolf, you’re even grumpier in the mornings. Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘only after my first cup of coffee’ people.”

“He’s not,” Peter said. “The glares are a daily routine.”

Derek growled in his uncle's direction, but Stiles threw back his head and laughed, revealing a long stretch of pale neck and dotting moles. Derek tore his gaze away as Issac came shuffling into the kitchen too, averting his eyes from Stiles’ even as the guy smiled warmly at him. Derek noticed a faint flush spreading across the beta’s cheeks.

“You know,” Stiles said, pouring milk into his cereal. “This isn’t so bad. The apartment is a bit serial killer-y, don’t get me wrong, but mornings like this could almost be considered normal. Do you guys even do normal? The Alpha, zombie, beta, and now mage?” He laughed again, screwing the cap back onto the milk. “That sounds like the start of a bad joke. An Alpha, zombie, beta, and mage walk into a bar…”

Peter covered up a snort and even Issac chuckled, but Derek rolled his eyes. He didn’t think Stiles was nearly as funny as he believed.

“Oh, come on, Grumps,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s sour look. He nudged his arm and Derek growled, which made the boy’s eyes twinkle. “You need to lighten up a little. Not all things are dark clouds and angsty feelings, you know.”

“Whatever,” Derek muttered. Stiles shook his head.

“I’ll wear you down.”

The thing was, Derek worried he might. He wasn’t sure how long they’d be stuck with Stiles but he worried if it was too long, the guy might actually wear him down eventually. And he hadn’t let anyone do that since Jenniffer.

The thought terrified him.

Derek spent the rest of the day avoiding Stiles and staying out of the living room where he had set up camp, covering their coffee table with books and papers. Derek only came out of his room to get lunch, and had caught Stiles with a pen between his teeth, legs balanced up on the arm chair, and a book covering his face. He couldn’t tell if the guy had fallen asleep or not, but didn’t make a move to bother him.

The others came back that night, settling in to go over what they’d found when scouring the town. Turns out, it wasn’t much.

“There was another killing,” Scott said, “but we couldn’t catch a scent on the scene.”

“Maybe it’s been dragging the bodies from where it originally killed them,” Lydia said thoughtfully, nestled on the couch at Jackson’s side. Stiles paced back and forth, still chewing on the back of the pen from earlier.

“Could be,” he said, turning to pace again. “Or it could just be the smell of blood and guts cover up the scent of anything else. Or the den’s much deeper in the wood than we had assumed.”

“Than you had assumed,” Jackson countered. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, lizard-man, at least I’m trying.”

“How do you know about the kanima?” Derek asked, startled. Stiles grinned around the pen at him.

“Oh, come on, Sourwolf, I thought we’ve established I know many things. I’m like the Oracle of Delphi, I see all and know all.”

Erica snorted. Derek shot her a narrow-eyed look.

Stiles plopped down onto her lap and propped his feet across Boyd’s legs, who surprisingly didn’t argue. Threading his fingers and cracking them outward, Stiles looked thoughtful. “What if we lured it out?”

“How?” Scott looked confused.

“You know,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “With bait.”

“No,” Derek said. “That’s too risky.”

“Oh, relax, I’m not asking for you to risk your little fluffballs,” Stiles said, gazing over at him. “I’d do it. I happen to have on very reliable information that I’m a, and a quote, ‘hot hunk of Stiles’. I’m sure the rougarou would love to chew on this.”

Issac made a choking noise and Derek felt the tip of his ears turn red, though he didn’t even know why. He turned away as Stiles grinned at him and he tried to ignore the knowing look Lydia shot his way, focusing on keeping his breaths steady. A long moment passed before he could face Stiles again. 

“No. Not happening.”

“I’m really not asking, big guy.”

“Too bad, I’m telling.”

“I don’t get what the problem is,” Jackson said, looking bored. “If the idiot wants to get himself killed, then I say we let the idiot get himself killed.”

“For your information, I’ve faced far worse and gotten off without dying,” Stiles said, crooking a finger at the beta. “Ever been possessed by a demon, Mr. Lizard? Yeah, I didn’t think so. I’ve done that, been there, and it wasn’t very fun, but if I can survive a nogitsune, then I can survive a slightly vicious rougarou.”

Derek startled, but Peter spoke before he could, getting into the conversation for the first time that night. “I thought the rumors of that were highly exaggerated.”

“Only because I didn’t need a bunch of demon hunters on my tail,” Stiles said with a shrug. “The supernatural I can deal with. People are much worse sometimes.”

Silence reigned over the room, and Stiles shot Allison an apologetic smile, which she waved off. Scott shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. 

“I think we should let Stiles be the bait,” Lydia said, breaking the silence. Everyone looked at her and she lifted a shoulder. “It’s clear he can handle it.”

“Light of my life, I have never adored you more,” Stiles said, grinning. Jackson growled at him.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Derek interjected, to which nobody replied. “But—” Stiles looked surprised at that— “It also might be our best bet right now. As long as Stiles is willing to step back when we catch the rougarou’s scent.”

“Oh Alpha, my Alpha, you strike a hard bargain. But who in their right mind would willingly walk into danger?”

Derek didn’t like that answer, but he didn’t think he’d be getting a better one. Grunting, he faced the rest of the room. “Meeting’s over, head back home. I don’t want anyone going after this thing again until we get the plan in motion.”

Just like last night, he was surprised to see everyone complying. There were no complaints, no rolling of eyes, just his entire pack picking themselves up, returning dragged chairs back into place, setting their dirty dishes into the sink, and filing out of the apartment. It was actually domestic.

He didn’t know how to wrap his head around that.

Once more, Stiles hesitated on the couch, though he looked a little uncertain this time. Derek arched a brow and the guy flushed.

“My dad’s on a night shift again and I know he had my room turned into an office a couple years ago. I could crash on the couch in our living room but…”

“You can stay here,” Derek said, surprised at the gentleness of his tone. Stiles looked surprised, then a fond grin cracked across his face.

“You’re a saint, Sourwolf.”

“Do you need another change of clothes?”

Stiles looked down at himself, lifting his shirt to smell the neckline, and shrugged. “I just kinda hung out today, so I think it’ll be alright until tomorrow. Unless the stench of awesomeness is too strong for your wolfy senses, in which case—”

“Shut up,” Derek groused, though the malice was missing from his tone. Stiles chuckled and settled across the cushions, his amber eyes never leaving Derek’s face. Derek felt a little self-conscious at that. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stiles’ heart didn’t skip a beat. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Things.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, but Stiles only smiled mysteriously. Shaking his head with a grunt, Derek turned into the kitchen to start cleaning. The living room was quiet for a moment, then Stiles’s padding footsteps followed. 

“You don’t make your pups clean up after themselves?”

“They’re not my pups.”

“They sure act like it,” Stiles said, moving to dry the dishes beside him. Derek tried to ignore the sudden close proximity, or how it made his skin itch and wolf howl. “I think it’s nice,” Stiles continued, a sort of fond nostalgia to his tone. “Having a pack to take care of and protect.”

“They don’t need me to take care of them,” Derek huffed. He was sure that if Jackson heard Stiles claiming they needed a babysitter, he’d have a fit. “I’m just their Alpha.”

“Isn’t it the Alpha’s job to take care of the pups?”

Derek glared into the soapy water, scrubbing at the plate he held harder. Stiles’s words always got right underneath his skin, no matter what the kid seemed to say. “They’re not my pup,” he settled for saying again. Stiles snorted softly.

“Whatever you say, big guy, whatever you say.”

They finished washing the dishes in silence and Stiles was tiredly stumbling around by the time the kitchen was wiped down and cleaned up. Derek considered sweeping the guy into his arms bridal style and carrying him over to the couch when Stiles almost face-planted into the counter, but he quickly restrained himself and focused on putting the dry dishes away a little faster. He couldn’t get the smell of autumn out of his nose, and Stiles seemed to be everywhere he turned.

Then finally, finally, everything was done. Stiles gazed around tiredly. “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Though I really think you should invest in a dishwasher.”

Derek only grunted, following him out of the kitchen. Stiles wasted no time in flouncing onto the couch and burrowing himself under the blankets that awaited, but Derek found himself hesitating at his bedroom door. He watched Stiles wriggle, sigh in contentment, and then peek out of the covers, amber eyes blinking at him through the dim light.

“Der?”

That startled Derek right out of his daydream. He nearly stumbled, but caught himself, shaking his head and swallowing hard. “Nothing, Stiles. Goodnight.”

Stiles blinked. 

But Derek retreated into his room and shut his door so quickly, it slammed a little. He could have sworn he heard Peter laughing himself to a third death from the floor above, and sunk onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands.

Laura called him Der, nobody else. Nobody since she was killed, since Derek was forced to come back to Beacon Hills and this entire mess started. Yet the nickname slid so easily out of Stiles’s mouth, it was like it belonged there. Like Stiles belonged here.

Derek was scared of everything. He would never admit that out loud, but he was. He’d been ever since Paige. Since Kate. Since the fire. He was scared of everything.

But he was terrified of Stiles even more.


	6. Memories Can Be A Fickle Thing

Stiles was awake before everyone else the next morning. 

Derek heard him moving around a little past six and could’ve slept for longer, but forced himself out of bed when he heard a faint crash. He came stumbling out his room out to see Stiles cursing over a carton of dropped eggs, head snapping up as Derek’s door slammed closed. A flush brightened across his cheeks and started down his neck.

“Ah, Grufflepuff, did I wake you?”

“What the hell are you doing,” Derek said, taking a few cautious steps forward. The smell of toast and bacon hung heavily in the air, and a few eggs sizzled over the stove, though the rest were splattered across the floor. Stiles rubbed the back of his neck.

“Making breakfast, oh wondrous Alpha. What does it look like?”

“The destroying of expensive eggs.”

“Hey now,” Stiles said, crossing his arms. “I’ll have you know that I was doing completely fine until like two seconds ago. It’s not my fault your kitchen is too small and my lower body has a mind of its own.”

Derek raised a brow, letting that statement sit there. Stiles blushed even brighter as they sunk in. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure.”

“Shut up, what my lower body does is not subject to any opinions of yours,” Stiles turned back toward the stove and scrambled the eggs around. 

Derek blinked as his cheeks turned warm, shaking his head and moving to clean up the splattered mess on the floor. Stiles looked a little sheepish at that. 

“I can help in a second if you want me to.”

“It’s fine,” Derek grunted, grabbing a rag. Stiles made a sound of amusement.

It was only when Derek had sopped the entire mess up,he realized he’d forgotten to throw on a shirt or sweats earlier and had been doing this all in his boxers. That shouldn’t have been embarrassing because this was his apartment and he could do what he wanted, dammit, but his face grew hotter all the same. Leaving Stiles cooking breakfast, Derek stumbled into his room and quickly changed **.**

It was nearing seven by the time Stiles finished and the smell attracted a sleepy Isaac into the kitchen. Derek was surprised to see Erica and Boyd following suit, having not heard the two betas come in last night. He must have been out deeper than he’d thought.

It’d been a while since Derek had slept that soundly.

“Batman!” Erica cheered, starting forward and rubbing her nose over the back of Stiles’s neck. Stiles barked in amusement and swatted her off, though didn’t look too put off. Something in Derek’s stomach twisted. His wolf snarled at the blonde-haired beta and he was tempted to growl at her, but that would be ridiculous. He didn’t care if they were scenting Stiles. It was probably better to attract the rougarou’s attention later on, anyway.

But Derek still left the kitchen feeling sour.

Stiles didn’t stick around the apartment that day, mumbling something about ‘other tasks’ before slipping out of the door. Determined not to be stuck alone with his uncle, Derek didn’t stick around either.

The past few pack meetings had effectively emptied out his fridge, so Derek took to the store. Erica had made a list but her items consisted of oreos, pizza, popcorn, and more oreos, so he dropped it in the trashcan on his way out. Peter had added on duct tape and rope too, and Derek tried not to be too disturbed by that.

At the store, he didn’t expect to run into the Sheriff.

The man’s cart was loaded with steak, frozen meals, and packaged cookies, and he looked guilty when he caught Derek looking. 

“Don’t tell Stiles,” the Sheriff said, dropping a jar of peanut butter next to the white bread. “He already threatened to fill my fridge with spinach and he’d do much worse if he knew what I eat when he’s not around.”

“Of course, sir,” Derek said, feeling oddly nervous for some reason. He’d never had an outright conversation with the Sheriff before. He’d never had a reason to. 

“I know about his plan,” the Sheriff continued, a chord of worry striking his tone. “To bait the rougarou. And I think it’s foolish.”

“I won’t let anything happen to him,” Derek said quickly. The Sheriff gave him a strange look.

“I have no doubts about that, son. But Stiles, he just… he goes headfirst into danger and never stops to consider the consequences. It’s my job as his father to worry about him.”

“I understand,” Derek said, surprising himself once more. “But he's a strong kid. I don’t think anything could hurt him.”

“A lot of things can,” the Sheriff answered. “And he’s not so much a kid anymore, you know.”

Derek blushed at that, unable to smother the reaction. He nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Thankfully, the Sheriff took pity on him. 

“Just keep an eye on my son,” he said, turning his cart around. “I’ve already lost his mother.”

Derek’s throat closed and he could only nod in answer. He’d never given thought to the fact that he didn’t really know anything about Stiles’ home life. He was just the guy who’d managed to get under Derek’s skin in two minutes flat, who’d stayed the night twice and slept in his clothes, and who was going to be risking his life so they could catch the rougarou in a few days.

Derek didn’t know what to do with these not-so-now revelations. So he finished shopping, paid quickly, and fled the grocery store.

He decided to stop by his favorite coffee shop to get something to drink, if not to calm himself a little. The barista always cut his price down, so Derek always tipped extra, and he was pretty sure she considered that flirting, which made him feel a little weird. But the coffee was the best in the town.

Like usual, she handed over his coffee with a wink and a smile, though this time, there was a number written on it. Derek decidedly turned away.

To see Stiles on the other side of the shop, sitting across from none other than Chris Argent. 

Derek froze for a moment, staring at the two of them. Chris was more relaxed than Derek had ever seen him and Stiles was wearing the short-sleeved green henly Derek had offered this morning, so his tattoo could be seen spiraling down his arms. Stiles was openly laughing at something Chris said, and Derek knew for a fact that nothing Chris ever said was funny.

He marched over without a second thought.

“Stiles.”

“Dude!” Stiles jumped, nearly spilling black coffee all over himself. Chris looked up, impassive as ever, and Derek resisted the urge to snarl.

“Derek,” Chris said.

“Argent.”

“Stilinski,” Stiles said, smirking as Derek shot him a look. “What? I thought we were all stating our names in monotone like a bunch of freaking zombies. Seriously. I’m guessing you two aren’t fans of each other?”

“His sister burned my family,” Derek deadpanned. Chris clenched his jaw.

“He bit my wife and helped poison my father.”

“Scott poisoned your father,” Derek snarled back. “And your wife tried to kill Scott. I’d say things circled back pretty well.”

Chris’s knuckles whitened around his coffee cup and Stiles chuckled, tugging at the collar of his— no, Derek’s— shirt dramatically. “Okay, then, now that we’re effectively all at each other’s throats. Derek, please refrain from killing Mr. Argent, as he’s an old friend.”

“An old friend?” Derek didn’t know how everyone seemed to know Stiles but him. Stiles shrugged his darkening tone off. 

“Sure, we’ve met up a few times. He helped me track down a couple of pesky wendigos a few years back and I took out a few rogue hunters in payment.”

“Better times,” Chris said, looking relaxed once more. That infuriated Derek beyond anything he could explain. He gripped his coffee tighter.

“I trust you know about the rougarou, then?” 

Chris gave him an unimpressed look. “My daughter keeps me up to date on all things that go on around here, Hale. I might not be hunting anymore, but I keep an eye on everything that impacts how often Allison is risking her life for your pesky pack.”

Derek growled this time.

“Derek,” Stiles said, studying him with a strange expression. His long fingers stretched across the table, like they were reaching for his own, but then decidedly curled back. Derek tried not to feel too disappointed about that. “Is there anything we can help you with? I mentioned this morning I had other things to attend to.”

“Other things like Chris Argent, apparently.”

Stiles reeled back at that, his face twisting. Derek realized his mistake immediately and clenched his jaw, but the words were already said. Chris looked between them, then stood, pulling a few bills out of his wallet and laying them on the table.

“I think I’ll leave you two to discuss… things.”

Derek opened and closed his mouth, but the man was already gone. He stared after him with a sinking feeling and Stiles’ eyes were aflame when Derek looked back.

“What. The. Hell.” Stiles ground out. Derek had the sudden urge to flee.

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like him? You don’t like him? Well, let me introduce a foreign idea, big guy, this wasn’t about you! Seriously, what the hell was that? You don’t even like me, so why do you care about who I meet in my free time?”

“I like you,” Derek defended. Stiles stared at him.

“What?”

“I mean, I tolerate you. You’re working with the pack. I don’t hate you or anything.”

“You hated me when I first showed up,” Stiles said. Derek winced.

“Well, I don’t hate you now.”

Stiles stared at him. The guy looked beyond confused and a little hurt, which was a new expression Derek had managed to make cross his face. Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times before making a frustrated noise, shoving himself up and shouldering past. Derek turned after him.

“Stiles, wait—”

But he was gone before Derek could say anything else. Faintly, he realized the barista girl was watching with a sympathetic expression and Derek glowered, sinking into the booth in defeat. He didn’t even know why he cared so much. No, actually, he did. He just wasn’t willing to admit it.

Derek’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. The message was to their group from Stiles, and Derek had no idea how he’d gotten the number. Probably Scott. 

‘Pack meeting tonight’ the message read. Derek stared at it for a long moment before another one followed. 

‘We’re getting the rougarou tomorrow.’

Derek’s stomach tightened. Stiles would be leaving after they caught the rougarou, going back to wherever he’d come from. To whatever life he’d had before. Suddenly, Derek didn’t care for the rest of his coffee. He left the cafe and threw it in the trash on the way out.

The barista’s number and all.

* * *

“Don’t tell me you messed things up already,” Peter said the moment Derek entered the apartment. Derek scowled at his uncle, dropping the grocery bags he held to the floor.

“You could help, you know.”

“Oh, I know, but I have much better things to do. Like berate you for being an idiot.”

“Why,” Derek deadpanned, not even really wanting to ask. But the longer he ignored his uncle, the more annoying he became. Peter couldn’t keep his mouth shut once something jumped to the tip of his tongue, as much as he liked to make people work for it.

“Stiles came back for a few minutes,” Peter said. “He reeked of irritation.”

“So.”

“So, I’m guessing you had something to do with that.”

Derek ground his teeth together, trying to focus on putting the groceries away and not his uncle’s leering gaze. He was thankful none of the other betas were around to listen to this conversation. “I don’t recall that being your business.”

“He’s only trying to help, you know.”

Derek rounded on Peter. “Why the hell do you care about him so much? What makes Stiles—” he spat the name— “So special?”

Peter studied him, uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. Derek ground his teeth in frustration and turned back to the groceries, shoving the milk into the fridge a little too hard.

“My sister only ever wanted what was best for you, you know.”

Derek froze. He’d never heard his uncle speak so casually about their family before; not since the fire. The box of cereal in his hand trembled minutely. 

“I didn’t agree with what she did back then, but I wasn’t the Alpha. It wasn’t my place.”

“What,” Derek said coldly, turning around, “are you talking about?”

Peter huffed and swirled the remnants of his coffee in his cup. He was sneering again, but it was only half-hearted. “I’m just saying that memories, well, they can be a fickle thing.”

Derek stared at him, but Peter didn’t say anything else, picking up his mug and sauntering from the room. The cardboard cereal box crumpled beneath Derek’s fingers and cheerios went spilling everywhere. He took a deep breath, actively pulling back his wolf. But his uncle’s words continued to spin through his mind.

What the hell did that mean?


	7. Anchor Him

Stiles came back with Scott and Allison that night, the three of them laden under pizza boxes and Stiles laughing loudly at something Scott said. Derek didn’t look up from his position on the couch, but had to work a lot harder to keep concentrated on his book.

Peter hadn’t shown his face back downstairs since his little innuendo. Which was fine by Derek, because he might have punched him if he had. Though, Peter came down now, looking at Derek slyly before fixing Stiles with a sharp grin. 

“Is that anchovy pizza I smell?”

“Yeah it is,” Stiles said, dropping his stack of boxes onto the coffee table. “Because I know you like that kind, you sick freak. But it’s a small one because I also know no one else is going to lay a finger on pizza covered in little fish.”

“I’m both flattered and offended.”

“My skills at their very best,” Stiles grinned. The expression faded a little when he spotted Derek though, and he turned back toward the pizzas nonchalantly. “I also got spinach and mushroom,” he said, not looking back at Derek. “Just because.”

Derek startled at that, looking up from his book. No one other than Isaac and Peter knew what kind of pizza he preferred, and he doubted either of them cared enough to tell anyone else. Stiles cast a small glance back, shrugging. 

“You could have worse tastes.”

The others filtered in throughout the next half-hour, all crowing about how Stiles had picked up the exact kind of pizza they liked. Derek didn’t ask, though he was intrigued. It wasn’t like Scott paid enough attention to remember who liked what, and he wasn’t sure even Allison would know. But somehow, they were all there. Even the million-topping pizza Erica claimed tasted so good, even though it had pineapple and olives mixed together.

“I paid the police station a visit again,” Stiles said, spreading a map across the last open space on the coffee table. “Looked at the victim reports. All deaths happened around here,” he pointed at a wooded area on the map. “So this is where we should lay the trap.”

“And by trap you mean walking out there unarmed like an idiot,” Erica mused, grinning at him around her slice. But there was a note of worry to her voice too. 

Stiles waggled his fingers through the air in response, electricity cracking around them. “I’m never unarmed, my dear.”

“We’ll have reinforcements close,” Derek said. “Issac, Erica, and Jackson will set the perimeter. Scott, Boyd, and I will stay close enough that we can get to you if anything goes wrong.”

“But not close enough the rougarou can catch your scent,” Stiles said. Derek scowled at him.

“We won’t be able to protect you if we’re too far back.”

“And what part of ‘I’m never unarmed’ makes you think I need protecting?”

“I’m must trying to make sure you stay safe,” Derek growled. Stiles jerked his chin up, eyes blazing, and Derek caught a glimpse of the dangerous, spark-heavy mage that Stiles always kept disguised. The air buzzed with power and all the betas flashed their throats.

“I don’t need you to stay safe,” Stiles said, his tattoo glowing slightly. “I don’t now and I haven’t in ye—”

He cut off suddenly, the light in his eyes dimming. Derek was on his feet in a second, gazing at the guy, and Stiles rose too. But he didn’t say anything, just stalked out of the apartment. The door slammed behind him.

Silence fell over the air. It was broken by Peter clicking his tongue.

“Rash, nephew. I told you—”

Derek cut him off by following Stiles out the door, slamming it at his back too. Stiles was already out of sight, but Derek caught his scent heading outside; frustrated and angry. 

It made the scent of autumn smell more like decay.

Derek hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should follow. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the apartment, but he also didn’t want to piss off Stiles more. 

His feet moved on their own accord.

Derek found himself driving out of the preserve, though not all the way into town. Stiles’s jeep was parked on the edge of the old cemetery. Somewhere Derek hadn’t visited in years. It made him pause for a moment, remembering all the times he’d gotten close to paying his family’s graves a visit, only to turn around and drive back home. He hadn’t had the courage to step foot here since Laura’s death.

He didn’t even know if she was buried beside his mother or father.

Derek found Stiles kneeling over an old grey headstone. His head was bowed and his tattoo glowed dimly through his t-shirt, brighter than usual. Derek hesiated a few feet away, unsure of what to do.

“My mother is buried here,” Stiles said, not turning around. “She died when I was sixteen years old.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, remaining still. He never knew what to say in situations like this. ‘I’m sorry’ was the oldest response in the book and he’d heard it enough times to know how pointless the words were. Stiles only shrugged.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Derek moved forward. He padded to Stiles’ side and sunk down to his knees, looking at the headstone. Her name was Claudia, Derek read. He looked over at Stiles, but the guy’s eyes were fixed sorrowfully on the grave. Derek placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“She was killed by an Alpha named Ennis,” Stiles said quietly. Derek nearly jerked back at the name. The Alpha fight hadn’t been that long ago, after all. “I started training to use my spark right after.”

“Ennis is dead,” Derek said, as if that would make things better. Stiles nodded.

“I know. I would’ve killed him myself if he wasn’t.”

There was such cold, utter hatred in his voice, that Derek didn’t doubt Stiles would have. He also didn’t doubt it would’ve hurt Stiles more than it hurt Ennis. So maybe it was a good thing the werewolf had died at Deucalion’s claws instead.

“What you said earlier,” Derek started quietly. Stiles stiffened beside him. “Was close to something else my uncle said.”

“What did Peter say?” Stiles sounded broken. Derek didn’t know what to do with that.

“Memories can be a fickle thing.”

Stiles huffed quietly. “Of course, he did. Peter’s a bastard, no matter what number of lives he’s on. He’d never outright say things for real, if the world was depending on it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stiles closed his eyes. The breeze picked up around them, making the boy shiver, and Derek tugged off his leather jacket. He didn’t feel the cold, slipping it around Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles stiffened slightly but didn’t shrug it off. “Once this is all over,” the mage said after a moment. “I’ll tell you everything, Der. I promise.”

Derek stayed quiet, looking at the grave again. They stayed there for what felt like hours, the cool night air whispering around them, a waning moon hanging over the clouds. For a moment, Derek felt like everything could be alright.

Then a roar cut through the air, shattering the peace.

* * *

It wasn’t a wolf. 

That was the first thought that went through Derek’s head. Then he was shoving Stiles up and they were running over graves as something crashed out of the trees, tearing across the cemetery with alarming speed. A black blur and stench that Derek could only describe as death.

“Stiles, get down!”

Stiles turned as the thing leapt, barely dodging in time. Derek shifted and howled, the sound echoing beyond the trees. It was a pack call. 

Derek leaped forward and caught the rougarou before it could leap at Stiles. They grappled, claw for claw, and Derek howled again as a swipe sliced him across the chest. The rougarou caught him around the neck and threw him backward, against an old headstone with a crack.

Derek groaned. Before he could rise, he was kicked back again, a pair of claws ripping across his torso this time. He roared in pain and the rougarou roared back in challenge.

“Hey, ugly!” 

The rougarou swung to the sound of Stiles’s voice. It started in that direction and Derek propped himself up to see Stiles standing silhouetted by the moon. A shout built up in Derek’s throat, but couldn’t come out. Stiles’s hands glowed as he raised them.

His eyes were the color of crimson. Like that of an Alpha, but his face was human as ever. The rougarou roared, loud and bloodthirsty, and threw himself at the mage. Stiles drove his palms forward and all Derek saw was blinding light before a series of familiar howls touched his ears.

His betas came leaping out of the trees. Derek had never been so happy to see such a sight.

He didn’t see Stiles, but caught flashes of light amidst the roaring and points of darkness. Isaac raced to his side and dropped down, whimpering as he saw Derek’s chest stained in blood. Derek waved him off. 

“M’ fine,” he managed, pushing himself up. “Help the others.”

“They don’t need it,” Isaac said. To Derek’s confused look, he jerked his head. 

Stiles faced the rougarou with smoke curling off his arms and tattoo glowing through his shirt. It was a dragon that formed over his head, glowing amber red like Stiles’ eyes and roaring challenge against the rougarou.

Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away. Scott leaped toward the rougarou’s unprotected side and Boyd followed suit, the two of them tackling it to the ground. There was a series of sharp growls, the smoke dragon swooped forward, and Derek flinched as a sudden, agonous howl pierced the air.

Silence fell over the graveyard.

Stiles swayed where he stood. He looked okay for a moment, but then his eyes rolled back and Derek moved. He caught Stiles a second before he hit the ground, but the mage was already out cold. 

His heart pounded weakly. Stiles mumbled something unintelligible and Derek noticed with alarm that the tattoo had receded from his arms. He could barely see the way it curled beneath the collar of his shirt. 

“Something’s wrong,” Derek said, looking at the others. “We need to get him to Deaton.”

No one put up an argument. Scott helped him get Stiles into his camaro and Derek’s three betas piled into the back. Usually, he’d put up an argument. This time, Derek drove out of the cemetery as fast as he could.

It hadn’t occurred to him what happened when Stiles used his magic. All his previous displays had been small. Simple. But what he’d done against the rougarou tonight had clearly been overpowering. Derek tried not to dwell on the Sheriff’s previous words; pleading for his son’s protection. For Derek to keep him safe. 

Derek drove faster. 

He could hear Stiles’s heart beating slowly. Each pound was followed too slowly by the next, and his breaths were far too quiet. It was unnatural to see Stiles silent, still. It wasn’t right to see him so pale and vulnerable.

Derek knew if Stiles died, he’d never forgive himself.

* * *

Deaton didn’t immediately move to help. 

They’d laid Stiles out on the examining table in the middle of the room, and Lydia had made Derek sit down when he’d nearly collapsed due to his own injuries. The healing process was slow going, just as Stiles had said. The rougarou’s scratches were like that of an Alpha. Deep, painful, and impossible to heal right away.

But Derek didn’t care about himself. He cared about Stiles and how his breaths were too shallow to be a good sign.

“Do something,” Erica snarled, glaring at Deaton. The man pursed his lips.

“There’s nothing to be done.”

“What?” Scott started forward. Derek had never seen him openly dispute his mentor, but the fangs protruding from his mouth were as snarling as Erica’s. “What do you mean, there’s nothing to be done?”

“I mean,” Deaton said calmly. “This is magic. Stiles will heal himself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jackson growled. “How is the idiot supposed to heal if he’s unconscious?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him tap so deeply into his reserves,” Deaton said, studying Stiles’ face. “He did a lot worse when getting rid of the nogitsune. He’ll be able to come out of this, I have little doubt.”

“But there’s still some doubt,” Lydia challenged. The man shrugged.

“I suppose so.”

Derek moved in a second, slamming Deaton back against the wall. His injuries reopened and he nearly blacked out from the pain, but that was of little concern. Derek flashed his eyes at the vet, a snarl building up in his throat. “There has to be something you can do.”

“You’ve seen his tattoo?” Deaton asked, nodding at Stiles’s ink covered arms. “Well, consider that a tally on how much magic he contains. It forms when he uses his magic and the bigger it gets, the more power he's used. The less energy he has access to. Stiles didn’t drain himself completely, but he got close.”

“Can’t we speed the healing process up?”

“Stiles is strong,” Deaton said. “He’ll be able to heal himself. It’ll just take time.”

Derek growled and let go, turning back to Stiles’s unconscious body. He didn’t like the idea of waiting. Of being completely helpless to do anything but watch. 

“Did someone call his father?” Lydia asked, gazing around the room. Scott nodded quietly. Derek noticed all the wolves had crowded around Stiles; Erica at his head, Isaac and Boyd beside her, Scott with one hand covering his forearm. Jackson slipped to his side cautiously. They were all touching him, as if there was some sort of pain they could leech. But Derek didn’t see any black lines.

His wolf was quietly content at this. His pack taking care of another member. Member. Derek froze suddenly, his heartbeat stuttering. Boyd shot him a concerned look.

“Keep an eye on him,” was all Derek managed before fleeing the room. The words circled over and over again in his mind. Member. Pack. One of them.

But Stiles would be leaving after this, after they paid him and said goodbye. Derek closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the nighttime air. 

Stiles had done it, Derek realized, just like he said he would. He’d worn him down. He’d gotten in under his skin. 

Stiles was here and goddammit, Derek was shattered.


	8. The Mighty (The Innocent) All Fall

Stiles could count the number of times he had drained himself on one hand. 

It was exhausting, painful, and thoroughly uncomfortable after, so Stiles generally did his best to avoid tapping so deep into his reserves. But facing the rougarou with smoke curling off his arms, Derek’s wide eyes watching him from across the graveyard, Stiles hadn’t thought twice. He only remembered feeling like his tattoo was peeling itself off his skin and hearing the rougarou’s pained roar. Then the ground was approaching too fast and a pair of arms were softening his fall.

Stiles didn’t plan on dying from this. He’d been a lot more drained after his battle with the nogitsune, after all, a fight that had truly leeched every amount of energy from his body. It’d be downright embarrassing to die from this. He’d never live it down. Ironically.

Stiles remembered little bits of Deaton’s. He could hear voices, but they were far off and he didn’t have the energy to open his eyes. He could feel multiple hands on his skin at one point, their touches like heating pads on his frozen body. Then he was left alone.

Silence reigned for a while, as Stiles fought for consciousness. Then he could feel someone talking at his side, their voice one he would recognize anywhere. That struck through him like a knife.

“I know you’re going to leave,” Derek said quietly. “I’ve known since the beginning and at first, I couldn’t wait.” Derek scoffed, then cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed. “I’m not ready now.”

Stiles willed himself to move. He had enough energy to lift his hand and place it over Derek’s, from his spot on Stiles’s shoulder. He felt the man start at that. Then relax again.

“You still owe me an explanation,” Derek whispered.

Suddenly, Stiles wished he could black out again. His exhausted mind went through memories of being under the nemeton, sneaking out when his parents were asleep, laughing at the Hale house table. He saw Ennis’s red eyes and a flash of fangs. Then sorrowful howls and a flash of blue.

Stiles let himself slip back into unconsciousness. If only to be selfish and gain himself a little more time. 

* * *

His dad was at his side when Stiles woke up again. This time, he came back to consciousness fully, blinking through an exhausted haze. Stiles was relieved to see his tattoo curled back down his arms, the feeling like a second skin. His dad started as he sat up, and immediately pulled him into a hug.

“My god, Stiles, you’re not allowed to do that again. Remember that talk we had about giving me a heart attack? Well, this is how old people like me go into cardiac arrest.”

“Sorry, dad,” Stiles said into his shoulder, smiling sheepishly when his dad let go. “Though to be fair, I didn’t go into the fight expecting this would happen. One thing just led to another and—”

“Yeah, yeah,” his dad said, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’ve gotten this talk before. Which is why I asked Hale to keep an eye on you.”

“Wait, you asked Derek to keep an eye on me?”

“I most certainly did,” his dad looked affronted. “And I don’t regret a thing. Who do you think sat in these uncomfortable chairs for the three days straight it took you to recover? Not Mr. Whittemore, that’s for sure.”

“Jackson’s not so bad,” Stiles said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “He just acts like a twat for appearance’s sake.”

“Point being,” his dad huffed, “I’m glad I had Derek’s support. You could’ve been killed if you’d been out there on your own, you know.”

“It takes a lot more than an angry European myth to kill me,” Stiles muttered. He rubbed a hand up and down his tattooed arm and gazed around the vet’s office, noting just how empty it was. “Where is Derek now? Not that I care,” he added, seeing his dad’s knowing look. 

“I sent him home. The poor kid could use some sleep.”

“He’s not really a kid anymore,” Stiles said thoughtfully. His dad laughed.

“That’s exactly what I told Hale when we ran into each other grocery shopping. He turned red just like that too.”

“Grocery shopping?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to go home and check the kitchen? Because I know there should only be healthy greens lining your refrigerator shelves. Is Derek helping you sneak steak into your diet? I’ll have his werewolf hide if that’s true.”

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong things here, son.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose, shrugging. There were a lot of things he didn’t want to focus on, currently. His dad’s gaze softened.

“So the rougarou is dead. When will you be leaving?”

Stiles looked down at his fingers, counting them unconsciously. That had always been the plan; to answer Deaton’s call, kill the monster terrorizing Beacon Hills, and leave. He had a life waiting for him. And an apartment and other clients.

But when he didn’t answer, his dad squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t make your decision too quick, son. I can always take my stuff out of your bedroom if you decide to stick around.”

“If I stuck around, I wouldn’t be living in my childhood bedroom,” Stiles said with a snort. His dad only smiled.

Stiles left the office as soon as he could, shortly after a long speech from Deaton. Something about taking care of his spark and not running himself dry, because that would totally get him killed. They were all things Stiles had heard before and all things he already knew. He’s taken a risk knowing exactly what could happen.

Someone had dropped his jeep off in the parking lot, which Stiles was eternally grateful for. He climbed in knowing exactly where he had to go. The Hale house was a drive Stiles had taken his first day back. It killed him to see it in ruins, but he headed there all the same. Because ruins or not, Stiles could see the memories of days long forgotten. Hear the laughter that used to ring off the house’s walls. He almost expected to see Talia Hale standing on the porch, her shoulders carrying the power they always did, her eyes bleeding to red as she guarded her home.

Someone was already at the site when he arrived. Stiles climbed out of his jeep to see Peter, standing lifelessly at the edge of the property. He didn’t turn as Stiles approached.

“You put up wards,” the man said. Stiles paused at his side, nodding.

“To keep out vandals,” he answered, glancing over at Peter for a moment. “And anyone else that would ever do the Hale house harm.”

Peter’s eyes dropped to the line between him and the old house shell. He looked hesitant to even try taking a step forward, fingers trembling minutely. Stiles didn’t say a word, just let him debate.

A long moment passed.

Then, slowly, Peter took a deep breath. The boundary rippled as he crossed it, but didn’t push him back. Stiles saw the tension seep out of the man’s shoulders as he stood on the other side, something akin to sorrow washing across his face. Peter slumped to his knees and gazed at the old house, expression never changing. Stiles stepped to his side.

“I crossed it,” Peter said quietly. Stiles laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“The wards only protect the house from its enemies.”

“But am I not one?”

Stiles gazed toward the burnt-out mansion. He could practically see flames licking out the windows. Hear the broken screams as desperate hands reached through the bars of the cellar. Smell the rancid scent of flesh burning. “That’s not up to me to decide.”

They stood in silence for a long time. Eventually, Peter shifted. “My nephew deserves to know what Talia took from him.”

“I know,” Stiles said softly.

“Only an Alpha can do it.”

“I called Scott an hour ago. He’ll meet me back at the apartment at nightfall.”

Peter nodded. Overhead, the crows called.

“He doesn’t hate me,” Peter murmured, still staring at the burnt-out house. “He doesn’t hate me for killing her. He should, but he doesn’t. Not all the time.”

“We don’t get to choose our family.”

“He should hate me,” Peter repeated. Stiles didn’t say anything else, because Derek should. He should've but his uncle back in the dirt the moment he returned to life. Stiles would have avenged Laura if it was his place, his choice. But it wasn’t.

Another hour passed. 

Stiles turned away when the sun began to touch the horizon.


	9. Loved You and Lost You

Derek didn’t expect to see Scott come into his apartment that night. They both stared at each other for a long moment and Scott shifted, clearing his throat.

“Stiles called me.”

“Stiles isn’t here.”

Scott’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, but then the loft door slid open once more before he could say a word. Stiles stepped inside, eyes snapping between the two of them. He smirked, but it was clear the expression didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah, my two favorite wolves. Except Erica. But don’t tell her I said that because she scares the shit out of me and I really like having my entrails in my body where they belong. Don’t tell her I said that either.”

“What are we doing here, Stiles?” Derek asked, trying to keep his voice as hard as possible. He’d come up with the rational idea that if he gave Stiles the cold shoulder, his leaving would hurt less. It was totally a good plan.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “I need Scott to get into your head.”

“What?” Scott startled. 

Derek went utterly still, his mind flashing back to Peter’s words, even as his claws extracted in defense. He didn’t like people being in his head, no matter what the reasoning was. His mind had been played with too many times in the past. Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, but Derek could hear the nervous rabbiting of his heart. 

“Only an Alpha can take… and retrieve memories.” Stiles said, looking at Derek while his eyes willed him to listen. “I told you once this was all over, I’d explain things. This is the only way I can do it.”

“I’ve never done anything like retrieve memories before,” Scott said, before Derek could even get out a word. “I don’t think I’d even know how.”

“I could walk you through it,” Stiles comforted. 

“How?” Derek asked. Stiles looked back at him and Derek forced his claws to retract. His wolf howled in disagreement. “How would you be able to walk him through it?”

“Because I’ve seen it done before,” Stiles said softly. Derek clenched his jaw.

“On who?”

Stiles wouldn’t meet his gaze. This time, Derek’s wolf howled in confusion and betrayal, and he listened intently to Stiles’s heartbeat. They betrayed his unsaid truth, even as Derek repeated the question. 

“On who, Stiles?”

“You,” Stiles said. There was no skip to his heart. Derek could have deflated.

Scott was looking between them like he was watching a live-action drama movie. Derek didn’t flinch, but crumpled internally at Stiles’s answer. The boy held his gaze with amber eyes, and there was no lie in them. In Derek’s nose, his scent soured. Stiles was radiating grief and nervousness. And fear.

What did he have to be afraid of?

“You don’t have to let Scott do anything,” Stiles said, his voice annoyingly calm for the way his heart pounded. Derek resisted the urge to growl. “But if you want answers, that’s the only way I can give them. You have to know the whole story.”

“The whole story of what?”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not mine to tell.”

Derek looked at Scott angrily, like the entire thing was his fault. The young Alpha drew back, growling at the back of his throat, and Derek quickly looked away. He didn’t need to make another enemy. “I don’t want him to see.”

“I can help with that,” Stiles said. “I can make sure the only person who sees your memories is you.”

“Can you make others go through it too?”

Stiles looked confused at that. “What? Like who?”

Derek gazed at him, long and hard. Stiles visibly flinched back when he realized what he meant, only just restraining himself from stumbling away. 

“Derek, I don’t—”

“Then I don’t want to know.”

Stiles looked back at him, everything in his amber eyes pleading otherwise. But Derek held his ground and after a long, painful moment, the mage’s jaw tightened. He nodded once. Angrily, coldly. but he nodded all the same. Scott looked utterly terrified. 

“Stiles, I really don’t think I can do this—”

“You can do it, Scotty,” Stiles said, brightness gracing his features once more. “Look, just let me talk you through it. I won’t be around for everything but I’m sure we can...”

Derek turned them out, trying to get a grip on his own thoughts. They spun too quickly and his skin itched in panic. He’d just offered to bring Stiles into his mind. Hyperactive, annoying, confusing Stiles. The one who a few days ago, Derek would’ve thrown out of his apartment for just breathing.

Oh god, he was an idiot **.**

Derek came back to reality when he realized the two were staring at him. Stiles tilted his head. 

“Der?”

That  _ nickname.  _ Derek ground his teeth together. “Are you two ready yet?”

Scott set his jaw, looking like he might fight back for a moment, but Stiles quickly stepped between them, raising his hands. “Okay, let’s not have the two people trusting each other with their lives fighting.” 

“He doesn’t trust me with his life,” Scott said. Derek didn’t answer, unable to dispute an obvious fact. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Well, my life will be in the balance too. So can we not go at each other’s throats?”

Derek scowled, “Fine.”

“Fine,” Scott shot back. Stiles shook his head.

“Great, that’s totally reassuring. Now Derek,” he turned back around, and Derek’s heart stuttered slightly. Stiles hesitated, eyes going downward. He reached out and took Derek’s hand, sketching a quick, invisible marking on his open palm. The touch was gentle, whispering. It made Derek’s heart skip a beat and earned him a confused look from Scott. “That should keep us tethered,” Stiles said, drawing back. Derek felt a bond tighten then. Like a line formed between them that nothing but Stiles could break. 

He nodded. “And what is Scott’s job in this?”

“Scott’s going to stab you in the neck,” Stiles said, somewhat apologetically. “It won’t hurt too bad. I think.”

“You think?”

Stiles led him to the couch and gently sat him down. It was so different from the wild, uncoordinated kid that usually flounced around his apartment, that Derek was rightfully nervous. Serious Stiles was unnerving. Meanwhile, Scott positioned himself behind Derek, and Stiles led his clawed hands over the back of his neck. Derek resisted snarling when they touched skin.

“You’re going to press in,” Stiles said to Scott, intensifying the tension slightly. “And not withdraw until Derek is fully back to consciousness. Understand?”

“Actually, I’m not so sure this is such a—”

“Good,” Stiles said, pushing down. 

Derek didn’t even have a chance to yell out before there were claws in his neck, burning worse than the feeling of the rougarou slicing him across the stomach. Derek howled and tried to jerk away but everything went black.

He saw flashes of color. Heard a mixture of voices. Felt like his brain was being split from his head and his body was being torn in two. Derek didn’t know what had gone wrong, but something _must_ _have._ He couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t feel his own fingers.

But then everything straightened out with a  _ twang,  _ like a rubber band snapping back into place. Derek stumbled and would’ve fallen face-first into the dirt if not for the hand on his arm, steadying him. He looked into Stiles’s amber eyes, seeing the mage’s solemn expression. Stiles averted his gaze and Derek finally looked around to see where they’d landed.

Confusion washed over him.

It was the school that they stood in front of. Though it was newer looking, less worn down. But it was also nightfall and a full moon rose overhead. It was strange, not feeling the moon’s pull. It made Derek feel less real, even if this was just a memory.

“Why here?” He asked, looking over again. Stiles still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Suddenly, a scream shattered the air. Derek froze as he recognized it, starting forward on his own accord. He’d know that sound anywhere; it had haunted his dreams for long enough. He shouldered into the school and raced down the hallway, just in time to see Ennis sinking his teeth into Pagie’s shoulder.

The world stopped. 

Derek saw his younger self start forward with a shout, watched Ennis slink back into the shadows. It was just like Derek remembered, watching himself drop to his knees and cradle Paige’s head. Saw the shock and pain in his own eyes.

But then things changed.

There was a startled shout and a younger Stiles came stumbling around the corner, with a buzzcut instead of longer brown hair and missing his tattoo. He cut right across Ennis’s path and the Alpha snarled, sending him pinwheeling back. But then Stiles’s gaze fixed on Paige. And his gaze hardened.

Derek didn’t understand what happened next. Stiles’s eyes lit amber just like in the graveyard, but his power was untapped. Destructive. It hit Ennis square in the chest and the wolf howled, flying back into the row of lockers. Young Derek pulled Paige tighter into his chest as Stiles raced over to them. In use to his powers, the tattoo was spreading across his skin.

“Der, Der, what happened? Did he, did she—” Stiles yanked back as he saw the bite mark. His expression twisted. “No.”

“Her body is fighting it,” young Derek whispered. “Stiles, I can’t do anything.”

Suddenly, the image changed. Young Derek was huddled underneath the nemeton, whispering comfort to a dying Paige while a battle raged above his head. Stiles stood between the entrance and Ennis, his eyes glowing.

“She’s not yours.”

“I bit her,” Ennis spat. “She’s part of my pack.”

“She’s dying!” Stiles shouted, rage written across his face. “An innocent girl! Did you really think she could have survived it? Did you even bother to ask?”

“She wasn’t my target,” Ennis snarled, the confession carrying in the screaming wind. “She just got in the way.”

Stiles jerked back at that, confusion crossing his face. Derek blinked too, not understanding where the story went off track. Stiles was here— but Stiles hadn’t been here. Stiles  _ couldn’t  _ be here. They didn’t know each other when they were young. They couldn’t have. He’d remember.

Fingers suddenly threaded with his own, making Derek start slightly. Stiles stood at his side, watching the battle with an expressionless face. But his fingers were trembling.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “What’s happening?”

Stiles didn’t answer. Just watched as Ennis circled his younger self, eyes glowing blue in the darkness. He’d grown out his claws and fangs. They glinted in the light of the moon.

“I was there for you,” Ennis said. “Emissary.”

Derek looked back over, feeling Stiles’s hand jerk in his own. The mage had his eyes shut closed, as if that would block out the words being said. Derek turned back forward, but once more, the image had changed. This time, it was just Stiles, Ennis, and a woman Derek didn’t recognize. One with curly brown hair and startling brown eyes. With a sick feeling, Derek realized it was Claudia. It was Stiles’s mother.

“The Hales already have an Emissary,” Ennis snarled, a claw over Claudia’s throat. Stiles cried out but his mother didn’t, her face one of quiet acceptance. “They don’t need another.”

“Please,” Stiles begged, sparks along his fingers and tears on his face. “Don’t.”

“There’s a way for us to get stronger,” Ennis continued, undeterred by the boy’s pleading. “A way for us to gain the power of our pack. You could be mine, boy. Your power could be a part of something that actually matters, not trapping in a pathetic, teenage body.”

Young Stiles was still begging. Ennis’s eyes flashed red. He tightened his hold around Claudia’s throat and sneered.

“I’ve never tried if this works from those in other packs, too.”

Derek looked away at the sound of young Stiles’s scream and claws meeting flesh. His Stiles had his face turned into his chest, Derek realized, and his entire body shaking now. He wrapped an arm around Stiles unconsciously, holding him closer as young Stiles screamed and the wind ripped around them.

For a fourth time, the scene changed. 

Now, they were back under the nemeton, where Paige’s body had long since grown cold. Young Derek was shaking, but he looked up as young Stiles entered. His eyes widened at seeing the blood on the boy’s shirt.

“Stiles! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His eyes flashed golden. “Was it Ennis?”

Derek froze. 

Wait.

_ Golden eyes? _

But that wouldn’t make sense. 

Young Stiles didn’t look at young Derek, tears still streaming down his face. Such pain swamped through the air that Derek could feel it, memory or not. Amber eyes averted from his from young Derek’s own. Stiles shook his head.

“My mom’s dead.”

That statement hung in the air. So heavy, Derek could practically feel himself breaking. He watched his younger self stare. Slowly realize the words said. And eventually, his face twisted. “Stiles…”

“I can’t do this,” younger Stiles’s voice broke. “Der, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch anyone else die.”

“Stiles, we can—”

“No, Derek,” Stiles turned away. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Something changed in young Derek’s expression, then. Something of pain and denial. Derek could smell the agony reeking off of him. It didn’t make sense until it did. There was more than friendship between them. His younger self was in love.

That struck Derek like a blow.

“Stiles,” his younger self pleaded. “Don’t go. I can’t— I can’t—”

“I’m sorry, Der,” young Stiles murmured. “My father needs me.”

The scene changed, right before young Derek howled. His arms clutched Paige tight, his face was contorted in pain, and he howled in despair. His eyes flashed blue. Stiles was nowhere to be seen. He’d left. Left, leaving Derek behind.

Suddenly, everything was real. Derek came back to reality as Stiles stumbled away and Scott retracted his claws from his neck. The memories flashed back like a tidal wave. Stiles, hanging around his house when he was younger. Him, accepting to be the future Hale house Emissary. Pledging himself to Laura, even though his heart belonged to Derek. It was all real and it was all painful.

Derek sat up with a gasp. Scott stumbled back, obviously utterly drained. 

“Der,” Stiles stared, but Derek was already standing. He didn’t listen to the mage before stumbling into his room, slamming the door. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. He didn’t remember Stiles. Didn’t remember the life they had they’d spent together.

But another life flashed before his eyes. One containing Stiles laughing through their family dinners, watching him as they ran during the full moon, cheering as Derek won the training session against his sister. It was so real. So true.

Derek closed his eyes and dropped down to his knees. He could barely breathe, much less think straight. Because it was all real; the kid Derek knew once. The spastic, hyperactive, loud-mouthed asshole that Derek couldn’t stand to be around but also couldn’t stand to be apart from. The one that came and went so often, Derek used to wonder if he imagined him. The one he’d fallen for again and again.

Stiles was out there. He’d come back.

But at the same time, he was more of a stranger than ever.


	10. Taste the Devils Tears (They Aren't so Bitter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles hits the road to leave, Derek pays the Hale house a visit.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff said, studying his face. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” Stiles said, shoving his bags into the back of his jeep with trembling hands. “You didn’t see his face, dad. You didn’t see the look in his eyes. I might as well have just torn his heart out there.”

“He was just remembering,” the Sheriff tried. “It’s been years, Stiles, and that’s all been kept from him. How would you react?”

Stiles glared at nothing, his heart twisting in his chest. Swallowing hard, he shook his head, and pulled the back closed. He’d already made up his mind, even if he hated it.“I’d never forgive anyone who did that to me. He shouldn’t either.”

“Stiles—”

“I’ll come back and visit,” Stiles said, facing his dad and forcing a smile. He didn’t feel like he did a very good job of it. “You know, in a couple years or so. After this has all blown over and the resident Alpha werewolf doesn’t want to rip out my throat anymore or anything.”

“I highly doubt he wants to rip out your throat,” the Sheriff said. Stiles sighed.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “You… didn’t see his face.”

And the thing was, Stiles couldn’t stop seeing it. He couldn’t stop seeing Derek’s expression of pain and betrayal over and over again, stumbling away from Stiles like he was on fire. Stiles thought the most painful thing of that little memory trip would be seeing his mother die again— but Derek’s face was far worse. He looked _broken._

Stiles had made him look broken. He didn’t think Derek would ever forgive him again. He didn’t think he should.

“I’ll miss you, son,” the Sheriff said, acceptance and sadness clouding his eyes. Stiles stepped forward and buried his face in his dad’s shoulder, just wanting to stay there for another few years. He wanted to go back to the days his dad was the safest place he could go; shielded from the rest of the world. 

Before all of… this. 

But he couldn’t. Stiles knew the only way to seek out the past was delving back into his mind and he didn’t want to do that again. Not for a long time.

He’d already wished the rest of the pack goodbye. He’d avoided Derek like the plague, choosing to meet them at the local diner instead. Like he’d expected, none of them were terribly surprised, but none of them were happy about it either.

Stiles had come here prepared to leave eventually. He just didn’t expect it to hurt so much when he did.

“I’ll miss you too,” Stiles said, pulling away. He kept the smile plastered onto his face, even though he felt like his dad could see straight through it. The man always could. “Friday night video chat dinners, right?”

“The only way you can make me eat healthy,” the Sheriff said. Stiles laughed.

“Good. Oh, and I cleaned out the fridge this morning. You better eat all those greens I left you and I threw all the ice cream away.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a punishment of some kind?”

Climbing into the driver’s seat of his jeep, Stiles laughed again. He waved at his dad through the window and took one more look at his house before backing out of the driveway. He thought it would hurt more; but leaving this wasn’t what felt like his heart was being torn in half.

It was the other home he was leaving.

His dad watched him until he pulled out of sight. Stiles gripped the steering wheel tight and fixed his eyes on the road. He really just had to make it out of the town. Once he’d crossed the town line and it was all at his back, Stiles was sure he’d be able to drive the rest of the way.

Back to his empty apartment, old laundry, and overflowing trash. And the landlord that hated him. Stiles’s life in New York was just great.

Stiles made it to the town sign and the last road that forked off before his resolve cracked. Cursing, he swerved off the highway and onto the dirt road; one that led deep into the preserve. One that he’d warded so carefully and had nothing waiting at the end for him; nothing but a charred house and painful memories.

He’d say his last goodbyes. And then he’d be on the road again.

Except, there was already a car parked in front of the Hale house. Stiles cursed when he saw the black Camaro, hitting the breaks so hard they squealed and his jeep jerked to a stop. Throwing the gear shift into reverse, Stiles pressed the gas again.

And his jeep made a horrible grinding noise, followed by a loud pop. Stiles moaned out loud, panic rising in his throat as he tried again. This time, smoke started to come from the engine and he gave up, putting Roscoe in park again as a figure came out of the house to stand on the porch and stare. 

Stiles dropped his head against the steering wheel, letting out a stream of expletives.

When he raised his head again, Derek was just… standing there. Standing and staring as Roscoe continued to emit little tendrils of smoke. Steeling himself, Stiles opened the door and stumbled out, eyeing his disappointment of a car.

Of course this had to happen now.

He figured one of two things would happen. Derek would either demand to know why Stiles was following him and would possibly rip out his throat, or he’d get in his Camaro and leave. Stiles kind of hoped for the second option so he could call his dad for help. 

Except, Derek did neither of those things. He just stood there and stared, face slightly pale. Swallowing hard, Stiles started forward.

“Look,” he said nervously. “I had no idea you were here. I was on my way out of town and saw the exit and—”

“You’re leaving?”

Stiles blinked, clamping his jaw shut. Wordlessly, he nodded, and Derek’s eyes flashed bright red. That made Stiles squawk, stumbling backward. “Dude! Calm it with the crazy eyes, I didn’t mean to bother you here, I swear! I just… wanted to say goodbye. To the house.”

Damn, that sounded stupid. Stiles winced internally and cursed himself.

“Why are you leaving?”

That wasn’t the question Stiles had been expecting. Maybe, a ‘why are you still here’ or ‘why didn’t you leave earlier’ or something along those lines. But why he was _leaving_ was not even close. Stiles blinked a few times before nervously wetting his lips. “Because I should. This isn’t my home. It hasn’t been in years.”

Derek flinched at that. The red faded from his eyes and he just looked miserable. Stiles hated himself. 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles said, the words barely a whisper. “I know I’ve waited one too many years to say that, but I’m sorry. For what happened that day and for leaving you.”

Derek didn’t say a word. Stiles swallowed hard.

“But I couldn’t do it, Derek. She died for me, you know? Every single night for years afterward I would remember that night. The images of Ennis ripping out her throat… I’ve imagined a million times what else I could have done to stop him. But it never change things. It never will.”

“So you left,” Derek said brokenly. Stiles dropped his eyes.

“I couldn’t lose anyone else.”

“You lost me.”

That was like a blow to the chest. Because yes, Stiles had. When he’d told Talia Hale he was leaving, she warned him of what she would do. She warned him Derek would never remember him again; he didn’t deserve to live with the abandonment. 

And Stiles had agreed. 

Sometimes, he still hated himself for that. It was those days he went into his head and into the memories of their past and wouldn’t come for days at a time.

“Was it worth it?” Derek asked. “Leaving?”

Stiles couldn’t find the words. So he shook his head, eyes firmly fixed on the porch, and clenched his jaw hard. He couldn’t even meet Derek’s gaze.

“Then why did you come back?”

“Deaton called,” Stiles said lamely. It sounded pitiful even to his own ears.

“Why didn’t you say no?”

“Because Beacon Hill’s was in danger,” Stiles said, heartbeat stuttering. “I had to help.”

“Lie.”

Stiles lifted his eyes,. Derek’s face was hard and his eyes were void of emotion but at the same time, he looked more fragile that Stiles had seen in a long time. Since that night underneath the nemeton, maybe. Or last night, when Derek had looked at Stiles like he’d just stabbed him in the back with his own claws.

If Stiles thought leaving had hurt, this was excruciating. He took a shuddering breath and shrugged.

“Deaton told me you came back. And I… I had to see for myself.”

“See what, Stiles?”

“I had to see if you were better off,” Stiles said quietly. “I thought maybe if you were, I could convince myself I’d done the right thing. That no matter how much it hurt, you were better off without the memories. Without… me.”

“And?”

“Derek—”

“And, Stiles? Would you have left if I still didn’t know?”

Stiles had been asking himself that ever since last night. He hated himself for wondering that if Derek hadn’t known, if Derek hadn’t asked to remember, could Stiles have kept up the charade? He could’ve stayed in Beacon Hills and started all over again. They could’ve tried once more, this time without the memories of death and pain looming over them.

Stiles hated himself for ever considering that. And he hated himself for wishing it could’ve come true. Because it still would’ve been a lie.

Derek seemed to read his silence for what it was. Something Stiles couldn’t read flickered through his eyes and he nodded silently. “If I asked you to take them again, could you?”

Stiles looked up sharply. “What?”

“If I asked you to take them again, could you do it?”

“Derek, I—”

“Stiles, _could you do it?”_

“Yes,” Stiles said softly. “It’d be hard, but I could do it. Peter still has your mother’s claws and I… I could figure it out.”

“Would you do it?”

Stiles stared at him. He couldn’t read anything in the man’s eyes. “Do you want me to? Take them all away again, just like before?”

Derek looked conflicted. He lowered his eyes and all that came out was a questioning; “would you?”

“If you asked me to and you meant it,” Stiles said, words trembling. “I would. But I wouldn’t stay in Beacon Hills, Derek. I couldn’t. Not with one life on my shoulder and a second on the other. It wouldn’t be fair. To you or me.” 

Derek’s eyes seemed to clear at that, as he looked up with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Careful fingers reached for Stiles’s own and the man looked nervous.

“And if I didn’t ask you to take them, but I asked you to fix them, would you? Would you stay and fix them?”

Stiles’s heart thudded against his chest. “Stay?”

“You don’t have to go.”

And that was the exact opposite of what Stiles had been expecting. When he’d come here and seen Derek, he’d expected anger. He’d expected pain. But he hadn’t expected forgiveness. And he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, as much as he ached for that with all his heart. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Derek said. Tears pricked at Stiles’s eyes.

“Can I show you something?”

The man looked confused for a moment. But then he nodded and Stiles tugged one hand loose, reaching up to touch the back of Derek’s neck. This is something he used to do a million times. When he’d get lost in his own head and the memories that made his heart ache and twist.

The world faded around them. Suddenly, they were surrounded by tall grasses and towering pine trees. In the distance, Stiles could hear the sound of laughter as a black wolf tore through the trees. Little black lines crept up Stiles’s arm as he focused on keeping the image exactly as he’d remembered it.

Three days before the nemeton.

Derek made a quiet noise in front of him. Stiles glanced up.

“Do you still want me to stay?”

Derek looked down at him and cupped Stiles’s jaw. In the swaying grasses and fading light of the memory, his lips touched Stiles’s own and everything slowly melted around them. Until they were standing back on the porch and all Stiles could smell was the faintest hint of pine and summer, the sound of distant laughter fading in his ears.

“Yes,” Derek murmured against his lips. Stiles choked out a broken noise and nodded, kissing him back harder.

_Stay._

* * *

There was this kid Stiles knew once.

A green-eyed, soft smiling, stubborn-headed idiot that Stiles couldn’t stand to be around but also couldn’t stand to be apart from. One that came and went so quickly, Stiles used to wish he’d imagined him. One he knew when he was fourteen, abandoned when he turned fifteen, and met again eight years later. A green-eyed, soft smiling, stubborn headed idiot that Stiles couldn’t even escape from. Even if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

And in the end, it turned out Derek Hale didn’t want him to either. Standing surrounded by old memories, the promise to make new ones hung in the silent air, and all Stiles knew was that he’d give anything to keep his promise. Because Beacon Hills was a home he’d left before.

But Derek Hale was the home he’d returned to.

* * *

_I'll taste the devil's tears /_

_Drink from his soul /_

_But I'll never give up you ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's been a hot minute since I've updated. Aaaaand, I might have broken myself a little with this chapter. Did I mean for it to be so angsty? Not at all. Did it make me feel sad and gooey anyway? A little bit.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around for this mess of a work, you guys, and I hope you all enjoyed! As always, the comments/support you guys leave makes my day. I'd love to hear if I broke you a little! (or if you enjoyed?)

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on Tumblr or something, cause you're all amazing
> 
> [ https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/6](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com)


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